


Stay Silent

by telekinesiskid



Series: Silenced [3]
Category: Big Hero 6 (2014)
Genre: Aged-Up Characters, Alive!Tadashi, Ambiguous Past Sexual Abuse, Bisexual!Hiro, Closure, Cycle of Abuse, Potential False Memories, Potential Repressed Memories, Rape Recovery, Rape Support, Robots, Silencing, pseudo legal proceedings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-04-03
Packaged: 2018-03-15 08:10:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 70,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3439886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/telekinesiskid/pseuds/telekinesiskid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things had been going so well for Hiro lately. His brother has been having a lot of success with his Baymax series, he has a secret bot fighting ring in the basement of his awesome workplace, and he's just starting volunteer work for a rape sensitivity training course.</p><p>And then he's approached by the one person he wished he'd never have to see again...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *takes an escalator to hell*
> 
> Hello again, friends. I think we all knew I just couldn't resist. Ha ha...
> 
> So, basically, this story takes place about eight years after the last one. For reference, Hiro is twenty-six and Tadashi is thirty-one (so old D:)
> 
> Slight WARNING for rape mentions. Nothing too huge though.
> 
> Feedback/concrit very much welcome!

Hiro hated dressing up. He hardly ever did, because he hardly ever had to. He was ranked highly enough in his workplace that no one had ever told him that he should try wearing a dress shirt and pair of actual _pants_ sometime. He was most comfortable in his jeans and cool shirts and hoodies, and so that was what he wore every day.

But, he couldn’t wear them right now. Not to his brother’s big event.

His brother’s big event that Hiro was already late to.

But there wasn’t really an awful lot he could do about that, being packed into a tram full of commuters, like a tin of sardines. He didn’t even have room to pull out his phone and tell his brother that he was still coming, that he was on his way. Not that it would’ve been very helpful; his brother was probably already on stage by now.

He was almost flat against a window, and he glowered at his reflection in the glass. He didn’t look great. He’d made an effort, but people who didn’t know him wouldn’t believe that, going off looks alone. He hoped that there would be others like him there who weren’t _too_ dressed up. He’d been told the event was as close to black tie as an SFIT event could get, but that didn’t stop Hiro from trying to pass off black jeans as dress pants. He was wearing a white dress shirt with a collar that was still so stiff and itchy at his throat, even as he ditched the tie and undid the top buttons a little. He didn’t have a proper jacket, so instead he’d donned a navy blue blazer that didn’t fit him quite right anymore. He wished he had some gel or something on him; his hair was sticking out every which way like he’d just gotten out of bed. He tried to inconspicuously lick his hand and pat it down, but it never stayed. Also, gross.

The tram was a lot slower than even Hiro had thought possible. It rolled with the weight of over forty business men and women, students and pensioners, and Hiro swore that pedestrians in the street were moving faster than they were. It was his own fault, he knew. He should’ve left work earlier. He shouldn’t have expected that he could get halfway across town in under twenty minutes during the evening rush hour.

And then the tram broke down. Unbelievable. Passengers chorused with frustrated cries and expletives, but Hiro didn’t waste a second of his time; he just shouldered his backpack, pushed his way to the exit, jumped off the tram, and broke straight into a run down the street. Dodging around pedestrians on the crowded sidewalks was like trying to play a real-life game of bullet hell.

He passed a clock and – God, he was _so late._ He’d probably missed half the speeches by now. He _hated_ to imagine that his brother might think he wasn’t there for him. That he wasn’t coming at all.

He had to hurry.

 _Finally_ the San Fransokyo Institute of Technology came into view. It looked just as shiny and astoundingly _huge_ as it had, something like seven or eight years ago now. It had been so long. He raced across the lawn, ran inside, mounted up several flights of stairs, and burst into the room where the event was being held.

Several well-dressed people nearby turned to stare at him, and stare at the state of him. Hiro did his best to cover his mouth and catch his breath because it was _so quiet_ in the large auditorium, save for the echo of whoever was mid-speech up on stage. The place had been done up a lot for events such as these; it was all smoothly modern and white lights and ergonomic designs. If the theme had to be described in just one word, Hiro thought it might be _future._ Or perhaps _spacestation._

But, of course, the real theme of this evening was _robots._

Because robots are _awesome._

Hiro meekly pushed through the crowd of standing scientists and engineers, murmuring apologies to anyone he bumped too hard into, just trying to get to the front. He was still so _short_ after all these years – no, he decided, everyone was just too damn _tall_ – and he still had to stretch up his neck and stand on his toes just to see who was on the stage.

His brother was there. He sat on a chair in the back, with several others who he’d worked alongside, and there was a little stoked smile on his face. Just looking at him made Hiro smile too.

There was no way he could get Tadashi’s attention without making an ass out of himself, so Hiro elected not to. He grabbed some fancy snacks – or maybe he should’ve called them _hors d'oeuvres_ – from a passing waiter’s tray, and he grabbed a glass of white wine from another. He ate and drank as he listened to the speaker go on and on about all the good work Tadashi and his team had done over the years, and how many lives the Baymax series had improved, and how many more they were going to improve once they’d manufactured and stocked more hospitals and rest homes with them.

There was a Baymax up on stage, standing in the foreground and blinking periodically. It looked a lot different to the last one Hiro had seen, many years ago now. It looked good. It looked proficient, capable. Friendly. Every now and again he could see his brother’s gaze flicker over to it, and his little smile almost became bittersweet.

Hiro had wanted to watch them demonstrate all of the amazing features Baymax had, and all of the amazing medical procedures he was programmed with, but Hiro supposed they’d already done all that fun stuff. He was already listening to the last speech; when it was over, another speaker stood up to announce a good night and issued a thanks for the overwhelming support. Hiro applauded, though not _nearly_ as enthusiastically as some other people around him.

Hiro guessed it didn’t matter. He could always just ask his brother to shown him a Baymax later. But he was a little put out that he’d missed so much of the presentation, and especially his brother’s speech. Hiro could see from the way Tadashi clapped and hugged his team and discreetly wiped at his eyes that it had all meant _so_ much to him.

Hiro watched and waited for his brother to leave the stage, but he was barely able to move – always getting stopped to shake hands or have a photo or answer a question. From the way people reacted to his presence… If Hiro didn’t know any better, he’d think his brother was a local celebrity. Hiro wanted so much to just get up there, and tell his brother what a huge dork he was, and embarrass him in front of his little fanbase, but Tadashi was already back at Baymax’s side as people started to point and ask about the robot’s design.

Hiro groaned. He looked around. The crowd was starting to dissipate – people congregating into little groups. Hiro didn’t recognise anyone. He couldn’t even find any of Tadashi’s old friends, who he still talked to occasionally. So he wandered upstairs, where it was quieter, and found a nice vinyl couch to kill time on for a while.

 _Upstairs,_ he texted his brother, smirking. _Once you’ve finished show and tell._

He hadn’t had to wait very long. Not ten minutes after he’d sent that message, Hiro cried out in alarm as two arms suddenly wrapped around his shoulders, gripping him tightly, crushing him, _strangling_ him. It was either his brother or a murderer – one of the two. But he could probably take a good guess as to which one it was.

“Hey nerd.”

“Hey knucklehead.”

Hiro pushed him off, and Tadashi jumped over the back of the couch to sit next to his brother. Hiro regarded him, an eyebrow raised, and he just _laughed_. His brother looked so funny: he was panting hard and his eyes were wide and his cheeks were pink with excitement. Hiro couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen his brother look so happy.

“You made it!” Tadashi gasped, clapping his younger brother on the shoulder. “I didn’t know if you were coming or not, what with your work and–“

“Yeah, I got here a bit late.”

“Really, how late?”

“Like…” Hiro peered over at his brother’s watch and felt a jolt of guilt go through him. He coughed, trying to make light of it. “Just… fif-forty minutes. Give or take.”

_“Give or take?”_

Tadashi threw his head back and laughed, still high off the thrill of success, and Hiro frowned at him, annoyed. “I’ve been _bu-sy_ , OK? Sheesh. Anyway, I’m sorry I missed your speech – I’m sure someone out there got it all on camera for me. I’d hate to miss you making a fool out of yourself in front of so many people. I sure hope there was at least _one_ other person out there who laughed at all of your lame, forced jokes.”

Tadashi leaned back, grinning casual. “Well, even if they were lame, people still laughed. They laugh at all my jokes now. Don’t know if you noticed, but I’m _kind_ of a big deal.”

“Yeah right,” Hiro murmured, smiling as he elbowed his brother right in his side. “You might be a big shot engineer, but you’re still my stupid big brother.”

It was quiet for a moment as Tadashi put a hand on Hiro’s head and ruined any and all of the work that had gone into making his messy hair seemly. “I’ve missed you,” Tadashi said softly, coming down from his high a little. He looked so sober, so sincere. “I don’t care if you missed my speech. I’m just glad to see you. I feel like I don’t get to do that often.”

Hiro tried not to look as affected by the tender moment as Tadashi did. “I haven’t eaten yet. We could get some dinner.”

“Yeah?”

“If you’re not too busy,” Hiro said, gesturing over the railing, where people were still huddled in groups downstairs, still flooding rowdily out into the foyer. “I can wait, if you need to go and… I don’t know. Have more roses thrown at your feet or something.”

Tadashi scoffed and he brought out his phone, sending off a quick message. “They’ll understand,” he murmured, standing up and putting his phone away again. He turned to smile at his younger brother. “They can cover me. So, what do you feel like? Pizza?”

“Already had _that_ like three times this week,” Hiro said offhandedly as he started to lead the way back downstairs and out of the Institute.

“Christ, Hiro, you’re _twenty-six._ You can’t keep eating like a teenager all your life.”

“True. How about burgers?” he offered, laughing when Tadashi groaned.

\-------

It didn’t take them very long to find a place. They settled for a posh European restaurant just down the street from the Institute, and Hiro agreed to go on the condition that Tadashi pay for the meal. Since he was _clearly_ rolling around in a lot of cash and publicity at the moment.

“Well,” Tadashi said, taking a seat at a table for two by the window. “It would be a shame to wear such nice clothes and waste them on the likes of a burger joint, wouldn’t it?”

“ _You’re_ dressed nice,” Hiro corrected him, pouring himself a glass of water. “ _I_ changed my shirt and threw on this blazer before I left the labs. I’m still wearing jeans and sneakers.”

Tadashi wore a face like he _really_ hoped his brother was joking, but he still checked under the table and it was true. He poured himself his own glass of water, shaking his head and murmuring disapprovingly. “Maybe I should take you out for a suit fitting,” he said. “See if we can find you something nice.”

“Nah. Can’t see how I would need a suit.”

“You never know, Hiro,” Tadashi insisted. “What if tomorrow I died and you didn’t have a nice suit to wear to my funeral?”

Hiro almost choked on his drink. “ _Bro,_ ” he spluttered, laughing, “I would _think_ that I’d have more things to worry about than _clothes_ if that happened.”

“It was just an example.”

A waitress came by their table then and took their orders, and it didn’t take Tadashi very long to work out that Hiro was taking advantage of his free meal. He was picking out some of the most expensive items on the menu, drinks included. He picked out a steak, got almost _all_ the sides, and a wine that was far too good to be wasted on him. By the time the waitress had left, Tadashi was giving his brother a disappointed glare.

“What?” Hiro took a sip of water innocently. “I’m _really_ hungry.”

Tadashi just shook his head and tried to enjoy the time he had with his brother. His obnoxious little brother.

“So, how’s your work going?”

Hiro nodded, “It’s good. They’re giving me more time to work on my own projects now, so that’s really cool of them. Been building a _lot_ of neat stuff, with a lot of amazing people like me… Also,” he leaned in and lowered his voice, “I _may_ or may not have started a bot fighting ring in the basement.”

Tadashi raised an eyebrow at him. He didn’t seem surprised. “Working hard, huh.”

“Hey – Just because I’m not _literally saving lives,_ doesn’t mean that I’m not contributing. _Wow_. Get off your high horse, bro,” Hiro joked.

“I’m not on a high horse, Hiro,” he sighed. He suddenly snapped to attention, like he’d just remembered something important. “Tell me, how are things with you and Suki?”

Hiro struck a confused expression. “Suki?”

“…Wasn’t that her name? The girl you’re dating.”

“Oh. _Sa_ ki.” Hiro rubbed at the back of his neck, suddenly embarrassed, and he looked off to the side. “Uh, things didn’t work out, I guess...”

“Seriously?” Hiro looked into his brother’s face and was surprised to find that he actually looked quite… downhearted. “But you both seemed so happy together.”

Hiro shrugged. He prodded at his cutlery absently. “We were only dating for a couple of months, so…”

Tadashi just wouldn’t let it go. “But I thought you really liked her.”

“Yeah, she was OK.”

Even Hiro had thought that his tone just then was a little harshly dismissive. It had shocked his brother into a few seconds of absolute silence anyway. Hiro took a slow drink from his glass, wishing that the food would get here already, because he didn’t want to be having this conversation. He _knew_ what his brother was thinking; he could see it as clear as day in his concerned eyes. Tadashi was worried that his little brother couldn’t connect with anyone. That he didn’t _want_ to get too close to anyone.

He was worried that Hiro was _damaged goods._

“Every time I see you now, you’ve just gotten out of a different relationship,” Tadashi exclaimed quietly. “I’m just… It’s a little worrying.”

“Well, not everyone finds their soul mate first time around, Tadashi,” Hiro said, a little gritted. He tried to cool off, reclining back in his chair. They were supposed to be having a good time. “Besides, I’m already in another relationship. I’ve been going out with Morgan for two weeks now.”

That made his brother perk up again. “Morgan, huh? Is she cute?”

“Morgan’s a guy,” Hiro corrected, “And yeah, he’s pretty cute. We work in the same building, so we get lunch together all the time. He has a _ridiculous_ manga collection. Like, _old school_ manga. Like, everyone-changes-their-clothes-and-suddenly-I-can’t-tell-who-anyone-is-anymore manga.”

Tadashi blinked at him. “You’re dating a guy?”

“Huh? Yeah. Morgan.”

“You’re…” Tadashi squinted at him uncertainly. “You’re… gay? Now?”

“What? No, I’m bisexual.”

Tadashi widened his eyes like this was news to him, and Hiro tried to roll his own into the back of his head. This was _precisely_ why he never bothered to tell people half the time.

“Since when?”

“Since I was like… I don’t know. Seventeen, eighteen? I could’ve _sworn_ I’d told you ages ago now.”

“Well, you _didn’t,_ ” Tadashi cried, sounding _way_ too astounded than the situation really called for him to be. “I would’ve _remembered_ you telling mesomething like that.”

“Whatever,” Hiro mumbled, leaning over the back of his chair to stare at the bar, and the waitresses walking plates to and from the kitchen. “Where the _hell_ is our meal?”

Their drinks arrived, and then the food arrived, and Hiro struggled to eat the gigantic portions that had been laid out before him. He’d ordered so much food that the waitress could barely fit it all onto their small round table.

“Don’t worry,” Hiro said, grinning at just how _annoyed_ with him Tadashi looked. He’d finished eating, setting down his cutlery and leaving just under half of his meal completely untouched. “I’ll get this all to go. It can be my breakfast tomorrow. You feelin’ dessert?”

His brother just stared at him. “Really, Hiro? Really?”

“Everyone has a second stomach for dessert, bro.”

“Unbelievable,” Tadashi muttered.

Hiro’s phoned buzzed in his pocket then, and he pulled it out to skim the email he’d just been sent. It was about that meeting again. Just extra details that Hiro figured he’d take a better look at closer to the date. He murmured a stiff ‘oh’ and put his phone away again.

“Who was that?” Tadashi asked. He hadn’t ordered any dessert, but he never resisted a coffee when it was offered to him. “Morgan? Work?”

“No. It’s… _Eh_.”

“Hm?”

Hiro’s mouth twisted up. He picked at his fingernails apprehensively as he tried to think of what to say. He hadn’t really been planning on sharing this part of his life with his brother, at least not yet. Not until he was a bit more involved and a bit more confident in what he was doing.

But he supposed it was as good an opportunity as any.

He cleared his throat. “So… You know how I still keep in touch with my therapist? Johan?” Actually, it occurred to Hiro that Tadashi might not have even known that much, but his brother still nodded, still with him. “Well, he gets contacted by research psychologists and a lot of other professionals who… want to collect data, or talk to rape victims. And, uh… since… there’s not really that many _male_ victims who get help,” – Hiro laughed, to try to lighten the mood, but it just sounded forced and hollow – “he always asks me if I’d be willing to help out, and… A lot of the time I say… sure. Why not. I’ve done surveys and anonymous interviews and stuff like that before, so… Some…” Hiro couldn’t remember the name of it. He just started throwing words out. “Rape crisis, rape… prevention, education organisation – something like that – is putting together these seminars? To teach kids about respect and safe sex and all–“

 _“Kids?”_ Tadashi exclaimed. His face was aghast, his mouth hanging open. “You’re going to talk to children about…” His gaze flew over the nearby occupied tables before he leaned in and whispered the word, “ _rape?”_

Hiro stared at him in silence for a couple of seconds. He was just a little blown away by his brother’s immaturity sometimes.

“Well, not _kids._ Like, high school students. _Teenagers_ who are already having sex and need… I think they said it was rape sensitivity training? Or something? Sooo… yeah.” Hiro shrugged, staring at his brother, waiting for his response. “That was… just an email to remind me about the meet-up. I thought I might… join their organisation. Help out.”

“Wow… Hiro, that’s…”

His brother couldn’t quite seem to find the words. There was something shining in Tadashi’s eyes that made Hiro think he was just _barely_ coping with the subject matter. But Hiro could see that he was still trying, and he admired that.

Tadashi still smiled, even though it was a little clenched. “That’s, uh… That’s really great, Hiro. That’s good.”

“You think?”

“Yep.” Tadashi nodded, and he just kept nodding. “That sounds great.”

Hiro smiled at him, and he couldn’t help but be a little bit condescending. “It’s OK, Tadashi,” he said, patting his brother’s hand, which was now clamped too hard around the handle of his cup. “I don’t _just_ build robots to rip the heads off lesser robots. I can help people in my own way too, you know.”

Hiro sighed and leaned back and looked out the window into the bustling street. He wasn’t expecting his brother to be much of a conversationalist so soon after all that.

But, surprisingly, Tadashi started to speak.

“I was thinking about maybe… seeing if we could make Baymax… accessible to rape victims. Somehow.”

“Yeah?” Hiro turned back to him again, his face lighting up with interest. He was getting so many new ideas so quickly. He was bouncing his leg. “That would be cool. What, like he could be equipped to carry out DNA tests? Not as proficient as a forensic examiner, but it would be a _hell_ of a lot less invasive to know that he was just a robot, right?”

“Well… Like I said.” Tadashi laughed, slow and awkward. “I’m still thinking about it…”

“Right, right.” Hiro grinned cockily. “Maybe _I_ could join your elite team of super engineers. Give you guys some pointers.”

Tadashi reached over and bopped him lightly on the head. “Why don’t you just invent your own Baymax, hm?”

“Maybe I will. It’ll be a million times better than your _nurse_ robot. I’ll give mine sweet karate moves, and put a rocket in his arm. Oh – and he’ll _fly._ ”

Tadashi laughed, like he thought his younger brother was just being silly now.

\-------

It was about eight o’clock by the time they left the restaurant, after Tadashi received what had sounded to Hiro like an urgent call to get back to the Institute as soon as he could. So Tadashi paid for the meal, Hiro collected his small bag of still-warm leftovers, and they both went back out onto the street, starting the small walk back to the Institute.

“So what’s the problem?” Hiro asked, running a little just to keep up with his brother’s long, quick strides. “Fire? Rogue robots?”

Tadashi shook his head grimly, eyes always looking ahead now. “Protestors.”

 _“Protestors?”_ Hiro wondered if he’d heard that right. But Tadashi didn’t correct him. “So, what are they protesting?”

Tadashi sighed, like he didn’t have the _time_ to explain all of this right now, but he still did. “They’re against robots, Hiro. They don’t want the Baymax series in our hospitals and retirement villages and clinics, or anywhere else.”

“Wait, _what?_ Why?” It didn’t make sense to Hiro. He was walking backwards now and he would’ve almost tripped on the curb if his brother hadn’t grabbed him by the shirt and turned him around again. Tadashi steadied him, growling “careful” under his breath, but Hiro was still so confused to really notice. “But… I thought these robots were _helping_ people. Why would anyone–“

“Because these robots are taking jobs.”

Hiro didn’t know whether to laugh or not. “Are… Are these people _serious?_ Last I heard we _needed_ more nurses, and more people to take care of the elderly.”

“Yeah, well…” Tadashi sighed, shaking his head again. “Some people think it’s a slippery slope. Some people think robots are going to do a lot of damage in the future.”

Hiro couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “So… Some people watched too many apocalypse films, and now they’re convinced that it’s only a matter of time before the robots turn against us and enslave humanity? That’s… _ridiculous!_ How do people even get to be that _stupid?”_

“Easy, Hiro,” Tadashi warned, “Not everyone gets to be an engineer like us, you know.”

“Well _yeah,_ but…”

They could see the Institute now, and they could see the small – well it was _bigger_ than Hiro had imagined it would be – crowd outside the front entrance, waving around picket signs and harassing anyone who walked in or out of the doors. They were small, but they were menacing.

Hiro had drifted towards the front entrance, because that’s where he thought they were headed, and he was amused to see what kinds of _stupid_ technophobic nonsense these protestors were spouting. But Tadashi grabbed his arm and veered him off to the side of the Institute.

“We’re going around,” Tadashi declared, and then he stopped. He let his brother go. He seemed to be thinking. “Actually… You should probably just go home. I might have a lot to deal with when I get back in there.”

“But I wanted to see a Baymax.”

“Another time, buddy. There might not be one in there anymore.”

Hiro stared at his older brother, confused and alarmed. “What… Do people break in and _attack_ him or something?”

Tadashi groaned. He was wary of the time, always looking between his brother, his watch, and the protestors. But he seemed reluctant to leave just yet. “It’s been known to happen once or twice, to the operational ones. We’re trying to make it illegal to assault them.”

“Isn’t that already illegal?”

“ _More_ illegal, I mean.”

There was a loud, blunt sound like chipped glass coming from the huddle of protestors, drawing Hiro’s attention away from his brother. His eyes bugged. He couldn’t see what they were breaking, but they were definitely breaking _something._

“You’d better give those robots some _armour,_ bro. I think they’re going to need it.”

Tadashi’s phone went off again and Hiro was suddenly swept up into a tight hug. “It was good to see you, Hiro,” Tadashi said, as calm as he could. “I gotta go, but I’ll call you later, OK?”

Tadashi pulled back, smiling nervous, and he turned to leave. But Hiro caught his arm before he could.

“Tadashi,” he cried, looking deep into his brother’s fearful eyes, “Look, I… Don’t let a few crazies get you down, OK? What you’re doing is _great_. I’m _really_ proud of you. Mom and dad would be really proud of you.”

It had felt like the right thing to say. Hiro let his brother go and Tadashi started sprinting across the green, to the side entrance of the Institute. Hiro could’ve sworn he’d seen an overwhelmed appreciation enter his brother’s face, _right_ as he mentioned their parents.

As much as Hiro _really_ wanted to, he decided against engaging the protestors; he just left the SFIT premises, figuring some cops would show up soon if things got any more out of hand. People actually _cared_ about SFIT. It was worth a _lot_ of money. If their windows got shattered, then better ones would replace them the very next day.

Hiro stared at the protestors in the distance. He stopped only to flip them off before carrying on his way back home.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter ended up being a bit heavy on the rape support organisation Hiro's joining... sorry about that :V At least he makes a friend??
> 
> As always, thank you for the comments <3

Hiro called his older brother the following morning as soon as he got out of bed, just to make sure that the protestors hadn’t killed him, or burnt the Institute to the ground.

“I had this kinda awful dream that you died in a fire, so.” Hiro shrugged. He had his cell pinned between his ear and his shoulder as he shovelled helpings of last night’s potatoes and green salad into his mouth. His spoke around the mouthful, his voice muffled with food. “Thought I’d see whether or not I’d need to get a suit for your funeral.”

Tadashi assured his younger brother – a little more gravely than he really needed to for that joke – that he wouldn’t have to worry about it for a very long time yet.

\-------

Hiro had the day off work. Normally he would’ve gone in anyway (although _substantially_ later than usual) to tinker around with his battle bots and further develop his own projects – just there to borrow state-of-the-art tools he couldn’t really keep in his own home. But today he didn’t. He didn’t even sleep in. No, today was the day that the rape support organisation he signed up to wanted its volunteers and new recruits to meet downtown. He was nervous as all _hell,_ but he still got dressed to leave. He tried to psych himself up. He was going to meet people, he was going to talk to them. He was going to be useful. He was going to help kids.

He trudged through the streets with a map open on his phone, feeling more and more _insanely_ apprehensive the closer he came to his destination. When he finally saw it, he had to double-check with a passer-by that it really _was_ his destination. It was just a short, reddish brown-coloured office building that looked as if it should’ve been bulldozed several decades ago. _That_ was the organisation’s headquarters?

Hiro sighed. He shouldn’t have been so surprised, so judgemental. There probably wasn’t an awful lot of funding for causes like this. They probably didn’t much care how their building looked, so long as it was still standing, which he supposed it technically was. He’d have to start a monthly donation or something. Get his brother to add the organisation to his endless charity list.

As he approached the doors, his nervousness became so unbearably intense that he _strongly_ considered just walking by and catching the latest blockbuster film, but he made an effort to stay. He veered off the sidewalk, into the dusty and dark building, and hesitantly came towards the reverberations of laughing and people talking…

He came into a large foyer where groups of people stood around in small circles, chatting and eating finger food. He barely took one step into the pale light of the room before he was spotted and assailed by some faces he recognised from the organisation’s website.

Once he’d gotten in there and shaken hands with the primary organisers – Alice and Hiyori – Hiro wondered how he’d ever been so nervous. He kept forgetting that everyone was always so _friendly_ to him, wherever his therapist sent him _._ People always went out of their way to make him feel welcome and comfortable, and they were oddly intuitive at knowing just when to give him some space and to leave him alone by the snacks table, when he needed a break.

He was briefly introduced to some prominent members of the organisation; most of them were experienced volunteers, or were ex social workers or ex cops or ex something or other. Only a couple of them were new faces in the crowd, but he didn’t know which ones they were because they were all new faces to him.

He talked to a lot of people, which got tiring after a while, but he eventually found himself buddying up with a somewhat sullen woman around his age called Lucy. He sat with her by the tea and coffee table, away from everyone else, just killing time.

She was surprisingly open about her abuse. As soon as she learnt that Hiro had been victimised by a caregiver, she candidly told him about how she’d been brutally raped by her step-dad since she was thirteen, and how she had run away from home and lived on the streets just to get away from him.

Hiro didn’t… really know what to say to that. He hadn’t ever really spoken to another victim like himself before. He hadn’t heard these stories first-hand. He had no idea how to react. He wasn’t prepared for it – for any of it.

He stared at the ground, his eyes wide and hurt, and he tried to stammer out all of these apologies that she’d ever experienced something so dreadful, and he added a joke about culling abusers like her step-dad, except that it wasn’t a joke in that moment, not really. She waved away his apologetic blathering like she was _so_ used to it by now, but Hiro couldn’t stop.

“That must’ve been awful,” he kept muttering. The reality of where he was and what he was talking about and who he was talking to came crashing down on him _hard_. “I can’t imagine what that must’ve been like… I-I never – I mean, _nothing_ that bad ever happened to me and–“

“Don’t do that,” she said sharply, shutting him right up. He looked up at her to see that he was being fixed with a mean glare. “Seriously, don’t. I once met a girl whose own dad kept her in the basement as a sex slave for _twelve years._ You think I hear that story and say to myself ‘oh, that’s worse than what happened to me, so I should just shut up’? No. My experiences are no less valid than hers, and yours are no less valid than mine. It’s not a fucking competition to see who suffered the most. So cut that shit out right now.”

Hiro could see her point. He lowered his head, nodding, feeling guilty and insensitive.

“Besides,” she went on, “there’re enough people out there who don’t believe guys can be sexually assaulted. We can’t have a _male victim_ perpetuating that kind of bullshit too. Notice how you’re pretty much the only one here?”

She gestured out to the crowd of people and yeah – that hadn’t exactly escaped Hiro’s attention. He’d known as soon as he’d walked into the hall that his gender was greatly outnumbered. There were only another two or three guys there that he saw, but they looked more like rabid supporters of their sisters and wives than anything else.

He jumped as Lucy suddenly smacked him in the arm. “Come on,” she said, getting to her feet, and Hiro hastily did the same. “They’ll find us when we’re needed. Let’s go outside.”

Hiro was a little reluctant to leave the crowd behind, but Lucy had the indifferent, jaded look of someone who’d been through the exact same routine a hundred times before. She was only one or two years older than him, but Hiro still thought she was so _mature_ and worldly, compared to himself anyway. He followed her out of the building, and down onto the thick concrete ridges surrounding a neglected flower bed.

She pulled a packet of cigarettes out from her jacket pocket, slipping one between her lips and offering another out to Hiro. She spoke around her cigarette, “Want one?”

“Uh…” Hiro gave a small, nervous laugh. “My brother would kill me.”

She stared at him. “You’re a grown man and you still let your brother micromanage you?”

Hiro laughed again, but he still shook his head, declining the offer. She muttered “suit yourself” and put the packet away. She had an odd sort of take-no-shit, cavalier grace about her as she lit up and stared down any pedestrians who caught her eye, blowing smoke at them like it was a gentle threat.

She didn’t talk. The silence between them dragged on for so long that Hiro forced himself to say something, _anything_ just to end it. “So, uh… What – What do you do?”

“Bartending. You?”

“Engineering. I build robots.”

“Nice.”

“Thanks. So, uh… Do you do this kind of thing a lot? The helping out victims thing?”

“Oh yeah. For about… five years now. I meet Alice – that lady with the grey hair and the big teeth? Yeah, I met her when I was still homeless, and once I got my shit together I went to work for her.”

“Why? Just wanted to help out, or…?”

“Well. I guess it was… part of my recovery. I was still really bitter and angry about everything that had had happened, and someone suggested I channel all of that ‘negative energy’ into something positive. And yeah, I just got so fucking _sick_ of hearing about all of these people who went through the exact same shit as me that I decided I’d make a difference in my own small way… So, I talk to victims. I see talk to them in person and answer their emails, but mostly I answer the phones… The helplines,” she said upon seeing that Hiro needed further clarification.

“Oh. Wow. That’s… That’s amazing.” He smiled admiringly up at her. “I guess there’s no one better at talking to victims than a… survivor, right?”

Lucy shrugged, tapping some ash off her cigarette. “It helps. Sometimes people are just looking for someone to talk to. Someone who understands.”

“Yeah…” Hiro was suddenly reminded of the first time he’d called a helpline, right when he’d needed it most. His heart just sunk in his chest. “I called a helpline once,” he said quietly. “I wish I’d gotten someone nice like you to talk to, instead of the lady who… basically told me to fuck off.”

Lucy’s head snapped in his direction then. _“Seriously?”_

Hiro felt so uplifted, so _validated_ to hear the obvious surprise in her voice. But it didn’t last for as long as Hiro would’ve liked.

“ _Oh._ I think I know why. A few years back, we used to get a lot of prank calls from college boys who thought they were just so _fucking hilarious_ to impersonate victims and waste everyone’s time. Fucking assholes.” She closed her eyes for a few seconds and just shook her head, sighing angrily. “I guess it was just easier back then to assume any guys calling were there to make fun of rape victims, rather than actually, y’know… _be_ the victims. Anyway.” She put an arm around him then and touched her head to his temple. It was a sweet gesture that he hadn’t needed, but it was still sweet all the same. “I’m sorry you were told to fuck off. Not a nice thing to hear. Especially when you’re just trying to reach out to someone.”

Hiro scoffed, murmuring, “yeah, no kidding.”

She patted him twice before pulling away again, taking another long drag. “Well. Don’t worry, Hera.”

That was a new one. “Um, it’s Hiro.”

“Oh, sorry. Don’t worry, Hiro. Societal norms and attitudes – they change, if you force them to. If you push hard enough. That’s why I’m here. That’s why _you’re_ here. People are gonna start taking you, and every other kind of victim out there more seriously.”

They sat in silence for a while, but it was different to when they’d first gone outside. It was no longer awkward; it was safe and welcome. Companionable. Hiro wondered to himself, as he watched a tram ding and grind past, if he’d just made himself a new friend. A friend he could really relate to. A friend who understood what he’d been through.

“Hey, Lucy,” he said, and she hummed quizzically. “Um… Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Does, um… Does it all get too much, sometimes?”

She stared at him, frowning confused. “Huh?”

“Like…” He tried to find a better way to phrase it. “When you’re helping others – when you’re talking to them and listening to their stories, doesn’t it… just, _really_ remind you of what your step-dad did? Or of how you were back then, and just… Doesn’t it get too much?”

“Well, it does happens. I’ve known a lot of survivors who were so keen to volunteer, only to drop out of the group a week later because they just couldn’t hack it anymore. It was _far_ too close to home. You understand and you move on and you don’t hold it against them – they’ve been through enough already. But it’s not just a survivor thing – a lot of non-victimised people drop out too, because they’re suddenly faced with the reality of just how fucking shitty the world and all the people in it really are.”

Her words made Hiro feel cold. He zipped up his hoodie and dug his hands into the pocket, bringing his knees up to his chest. He probably looked quite young again, but he didn’t care.

He murmured, “Will I hack it?”

“Should do. Well, we kinda need you to, since you’re a pretty rare and surprisingly useful gem. We need you for all the other male victims out there, especially the kids. According to Alice and Hiyori, you’re going to be the…” She hummed and thought about it for a second before coming back up, grinning inanely. “The unofficial voice of male sexual abuse victims.”

Hiro’s stomach dropped. He hoped she was joking. “I can’t… speak on behalf of _every_ male victim. I can only speak for myself.”

“Hey look – it doesn’t matter, OK?” She roped an arm around him and shook him like he was already her best bud in the entire world. “So long as you’re just speaking for _someone…_ That’s enough. One voice is better than none. One voice will herald more.”

Hiro smiled at her. “That’s… kinda poignant.”

“Thanks.” She grinned. “I stole it from the back of a fashion catalogue.”

\-------

They were called back in not too long after that. Everyone was seated in what looked like some kind of old table-less conference room on the first floor. Hiro took a seat near the back, always staying close to Lucy, and he listened intently to the two organisers at the front. They briefly addressed and gave updates on issues Hiro knew nothing about, and then they launched straight into their projected formula for the seminar. Rape Sensitivity Training. From there on out known as RST.

Hiro was astounded at just how _organised_ they seemed to be. How involved and dedicated everyone was. They already had their own practiced keynote speakers, and people to work on the visual presentation, and gather recent data, and deal with the venue, and the treasury, and they had people to creatively advertise, to promote their campaign, and to get as many local health agencies backing them as possible. They were even organised down to the very _samples_ they were going to hand out during the seminars.

But what they missing, they said, were more victims’ voices.

“They’re talking about you,” Lucy whispered to Hiro, nudging him in his side, but he barely reacted. He’d accidentally locked eyes with Alice at the front, and now she was smiling widely at him, expectant and hopeful. Hiro just swallowed. His stomach was doing just about every backflip and somersault he could think of.

“Mr Hamada,” Alice called out to him, across the crowd, directing a dozen or so faces to turn and stare at him. He shrank a little in his seat, and Lucy squeezed his leg. “Why don’t you come up and tell us a bit about yourself? …If you want to that is,” she added kindly when Hiro didn’t immediately leave his seat. But he could feel so many eyes on him now, and Lucy was trying to edge him up out of his chair, and…

He took a deep breath.

“ _Yeah_ ,” he said. He hit his chest and cleared his throat to try to sound a little less, well, hysterical. “Um, sure.”

He heard Lucy whisper something supportive as he walked past her, around the group, and up to the front. Alice and Hiyori were there waiting for him with welcome arms which they laid on his shoulder and back, turning him to look into all of those quietly absorbed faces. He was scared stiff but he hoped that no one would notice. His eyes flickered to the back and he could see Lucy trying to hold in a laugh…

Yeah, he wasn’t fooling anybody.

He abruptly wondered if he’d made a mistake. If he couldn’t even tell a small crowd of people a few things about himself without _freaking out_ , then he had absolutely no ideahow he was going to get up in front of even morepeople to look them in the eye and tell them all about the experiences that had almost ruined his life.

“It’s OK, Hiro,” Hiyori assured him lightly. She could practically _feel_ his jitters, he just knew. “We just want to get to know you a little bit better, that’s all. You don’t have to tell us anything that you don’t want to.”

 _You’re being stupid,_ he told himself. He took a few more deep breaths until he managed to calm down and relax his posture a little. “Um, hello.” He saw Lucy at the back of the room indicate that she couldn’t hear, and he started again, raising his voice. “Hello. Uh, my name is Hiro Hamada. I’m twenty-six years old. I’m a robotics engineer – I work for one of the top innovation firms in the city. And… I’m a male rape survivor…?”

He added the inflection, turning back to the organisers with an expression that begged to know if that had been the right thing to say. They smiled back encouragingly.

“It’s so good to have you with us, Hiro,” Alice said. “Would you like to talk further or would you prefer to sit down again?”

“Uh…” He looked back at the crowd, then back to her. “Well… I don’t wanna… waste anyone’s time.”

“You’re not wasting anyone’s time, Hiro. It’s entirely up to you whether you would like to tell us more about yourself or not.”

He blinked and looked back to Lucy for assistance, but all she did was shrug. Hiro wasn’t too sure. He was staring at all these faces, and none of them looked _nearly_ as horrified or revolted – or even _surprised_ – as he had thought they would. But still…

“M… Maybe I’ll sit down,” he said, slowly backing away from the front of the room. He could feel his face start to redden. “S-Sorry…”

“That’s quite alright, Hiro. Thank you – everyone, please give a warm welcome to Hiro Hamada.”

It was awkward – _so awkward_ as they erupted with applause. He darted back to his chair and sat down and wished that the memory of it would just fade already. Lucy gave him a one-armed hug and told him that he did good, while several people in the surrounding chairs turned to give him a smile or a handshake or a kind word that made Hiro’s heart just _melt_.

It was difficult. It was overwhelming at times. But he thought he might just stick around.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING = This chapter contains an EXPLICIT SEX SCENE. To be more specific, Hiro receives a HAND-JOB from his BOYFRIEND. There is a lot of GRAPHIC DETAIL. But it needs to be clear that EVERYTHING HERE IS CONSENSUAL. Which is a nice change for the Hiro in this story, isn't it?
> 
> So, I feel like it needs to be outright said: the purpose of this chapter is to demonstrate that Hiro, even years and years later, is still recovering from his trauma. His recent involvement with the rape support organisation prompted him to take a chance with his current boyfriend, and it went erm *well*. Hiro cries afterward because he's so happy that someone respects him, and wanted to genuinely do something nice for him (and not just use him). More of that will be covered in the next chapter.
> 
> BUT if you want to call BS and say that I just wanted to write some porn, then sure. Feel free to skip if NSFW scenes aren't your thing.
> 
> Thank you for the comments! <3

Hiro felt kind of bad. He’d just been a bit bored and lonely; it was the weekend, and it was raining, and there was an _awesome_ game he’d just bought that he wanted someone to watch him play. He’d told Morgan that it was their one-month anniversary, even though he knew for a fact that it was a few days off yet, but he hoped that his boyfriend didn’t keep track of the dates as well as he did.

He hadn’t really texted Morgan at ten o’clock on a Sunday morning and expected him to come around to his place (and with barely any notice) in anything more than sweat pants, but the guy had greatly exceeded all expectations. Not only was Morgan properly dressed, but he also came bearing sweet anniversary gifts of wine and chocolates and gummy bears.

And then he had to listen to Morgan apologise profusely for not knowing that it was their one-month anniversary. And suddenly Hiro felt like such a dick. He didn’t even have _pants_ on when he opened the door; he was just wearing boxes and a faded old shirt, and the state of his gravity-defying bed-hair made him look like he’d been electrocuted. He was a total mess compared to the tall, suave, and surprisingly romantic man standing before him.

Hiro didn’t really know what to say, watching Morgan slowly look him up and down. “I uh… I know you don’t dress up that much,” Morgan said, smirking. “But I thought maybe you’d make a bit more of an effort today.”

“Sorry,” Hiro groaned, waving him inside and closing the door before the neighbours saw. He took Morgan through to the lounge where the battle music to his game still _blared_ , and he frantically turned it down. He crawled into a stiff pair of jeans hanging from his drying rack and tried to explain himself. “I’m really sorry – I think I gave you the impression that I was _actually_ expectingsomething when, really, I just kinda… wanted to hang out.”

“Ah.” Morgan gave a nod and set down the presents. He opened out his arms and shrugged, like it didn’t bother him at all. “We can hang out. You wanted to play that with me?” he asked, motioning to the paused game on the widescreen TV.

Hiro clicked his tongue. He at least _sounded_ very regretful as he pointed out, “It’s uh… a one-player game…”

“So you want me to… _watch_ you play it?”

“ _Yeeeeaaah…_ But – it’s so fucking cool!”

Morgan huffed, but he was still smiling. “Sure,” he agreed as he grabbed two glasses from the kitchen. Before Morgan had even taken a seat next to his boyfriend on the couch, Hiro had already picked back up the controller and resumed his game.

A few hours passed by so easily, now that Hiro had some company. They talked about their work, they talked about the latest breakthroughs in robotics, and they talked about the game, all the while stuffing their faces with wine, chocolates, and gummy bears. Hiro got tipsy enough that his reflexes slowed and he started to play the game badly, and Morgan got tipsy enough that he started loudly criticising Hiro for his bad gameplay.

Hiro wasn’t entirely sure how it had happened; at some point Morgan had yelled “you’re doing it all wrong – just give _me_ the controller” and they had wrestled on the couch until Hiro had his controller back in his hands. He was now sitting on Morgan’s lap, probably to keep him pinned there so he couldn’t make another attack. Morgan’s arms were around Hiro’s waist, originally to lie in wait and snatch the controller back, just as Hiro became captivated by the game again, but they seemed to have given up since.

Hiro had hardly noticed that Morgan had been so quiet and still beneath him for so long. He’d been playing his new game for something like five hours straight now, and he could already tell that this was a game he was going to be losing a _lot_ of sleep to. For the next _week._

Needless to say, he hadn’t been expecting Morgan to kiss his neck.

Hiro winced at first, but it didn’t seem to be affecting his gameplay, so Hiro allowed it. He sat, perfectly still on Morgan’s lap, his mind torn between descending into the next dungeon without getting killed, and the extremely pleasant sensation at his neck. Morgan kept it up for as long as it took Hiro to get hard, but Hiro didn’t acknowledge it. He didn’t draw attention to himself. He just kept on playing the game, ignoring it.

And then his boyfriend’s hands started to wander. They started just on Hiro’s sides, squeezing him and then not squeezing him gently, and then one reached up into his hairline and started to rub long fingers through his bed-hair. Hiro’s eyes flickered down, just for a half-second, to see what the other hand was doing now. It seemed to be just resting there on his jean-clad thigh. As if it had an idea of where it wanted to go next.

He died then, in-game. His character, for whatever reason, just slipped off a cliff and fell to a pitiless death at the bottom of a chasm. It was a stupid way to die. It shouldn’t have happened. But the respawn time was just long enough for Morgan to ask, “Can I jerk you off?”

The question had caused every muscle in Hiro’s body to tighten. He tried to breathe normally, but the harder he tried, the worse the less normal he sounded. He was sure that Morgan could feel his blood pumping fast beneath his lips on his skin…

“No.”

His character respawned again and Hiro started mashing the controller so hard that there was a real chance he was going to jam one of them, and lose some essential capabilities. He waited as Morgan’s hands retracted from his hair and from his jeans, and came to rest lightly on his back. Morgan leaned away so that his chin and cheek were no longer on Hiro’s shoulder.

“Sorry,” Morgan murmured, sounding so apologetic. So ashamed.

It was a sharp, bittersweet feeling that soared through Hiro then. His boyfriend’s complete readiness to stop when asked just made Hiro want him to keep going.

 _Maybe,_ he thought to himself, over the distracted and hectic haze of his conflicted thoughts, _Maybe I could start practicing what I now preach._

“Um…” Hiro cleared his throat. “You respect me, right?”

Morgan didn’t answer immediately. “…Of course I do,” he said, and he sounded stunned. Like he couldn’t quite believe he’d just been asked such a thing. “Of course I respect you.”

“I don’t mean like, as an esteemed engineer or anything,” Hiro said. His eyes never left the widescreen, his fingers never missed a beat. “I mean respect as in–“

“I know what you mean, Hiro,” Morgan assured. He took his own hands away from Hiro entirely, as if he thought that was the problem. “It’s OK. I was… just trying to make you feel good. I’m sorry.”

Normally this would’ve been the point in his relationships where Hiro decided to break up with his partner. But he wanted to take it in a different direction this time.

He started to relax, and let his hips slowly writhe like they wanted to over ten minutes ago. His face felt so hot, his head so fuzzy. “You can… touch me.”

“What?”

Morgan was confused. Of course he was. Hiro knew he had to be _clearer._ He had to swallow back his embarrassment and use that little gift humans had: _communication._ “U-Um… You can, jerk me off.” His voice was still petrified. He had to be more… enthusiastic. More believable. “If the offer is still open, I mean.”

“…Hiro, are you sure?” Morgan leaned forward, his chest flat against Hiro’s back, and he craned his neck to gauge Hiro’s expression. “I’m a little lost…”

 _Don’t be,_ Hiro wanted to say, but couldn’t. He wanted to kiss Morgan, to show him that it was OK, that it was _all_ OK, that he trusted him, but he couldn’t quite tear his attention away from the game. He just watched his character pick up notes only to drop them again moments later, because there was no way he was going to be able to actually _read_ and digest any information right now.

He had to be honest, without being _too_ honest. “I’ve never… No one’s ever… I haven’t done anything like this before.”

“Like…? Oh.”

Morgan seemed to get it without needing much prompting. “Yeah…”

“…Really? But…” There was a light shudder underneath him, and Hiro _really_ hoped that Morgan wasn’t laughing right now. “Aren’t you like, thirty years old?”

“Fuck you,” Hiro said, but there was no heart behind it. He couldn’t help smiling a little. They were starting to talk again, like normal – like Hiro _wasn’t_ about to bust right out of his pants and could feel his boyfriend’s erection dig into his lower, lower back. It was easier to talk to him when they were still laughing and joking like this. “So fucking what if I was, huh?”

“How’ve you managed all these years?” Morgan’s hands returned around Hiro’s waist, and Hiro almost died in-game _again_ just to see that they were resting _painfully_ , tantalisingly close to where he most wanted them to be. He rocked his hips and played more furiously in his frustration. “Are you just not really all that interested, or…?”

“No, the embarrassingly large collection of sex toys I keep under my bed helps me cope without the touch of another human,” Hiro joked.

“Embarrassingly large?” Morgan’s voice was just a whisper now. Hiro could feel Morgan’s breath on his ear and he just _shivered_. His back actually started to arch. “How many toys would constitute an embarrassingly large collection?”

“More than one,” Hiro breathed, and he could _hear_ in his voice just how desperate he was. He was so excruciatingly hard now. It was getting _so_ ridiculously hard to play the game without dying every few seconds, and Morgan had barely even touched him.

“You’ve got me so interested now,” Morgan laughed breathlessly, right in his ear, and Hiro wondered if his body might be melting. Melting and on fire. “Can we check out your sex toys…?”

“ _Uhn…_ ”

Hiro didn’t know what kind of sound he’d uttered just then – he didn’t know and he didn’t _care._ His eyes closed and he bit down hard on his bottom lip and he moved his hips up and down, again and again, senselessly trying to get the friction he wanted – he _needed_. His body heaved and rolled and pressed back onto his boyfriend with urgent desire. His head was just a _mess._

The controller must’ve slipped from his hands then because something loud clattered to the floor.

Suddenly Morgan was holding his waist, like he thought Hiro was going to slip right off him. “Easy,” Morgan breathed, soothing and erotic, “we’ll go at your own pace. Tell me what you want me to do.”

Oh _God._

“ _Touch me_ ,” Hiro whined, and Morgan quickly followed his impatient demands – but no matter how quick it was, it wasn’t ever going to be quick enough. Morgan was shaking too as he fought open the button and zip on Hiro’s jeans, and Hiro assisted him in pulling them down just far enough for Morgan to reach in and wrap his hand around his throbbing erection. Upon contact, Hiro threw his head back and _cried_ and his body arched with impending orgasm.

It didn’t take him more than another several seconds to come. Hiro trembled, his cries coming out in short, choked stops and starts, his nails digging into whatever they could find and _hold_. He was pressing his back _hard_ into the couch, his hips almost lifting right off. He was vaguely aware that he’d made a mess of his shirt, and he thought that meant that his orgasm would be over, but it just went on and on and _on and on_. He’d never been caught in the white-hot throes of ecstasy for so long in his entire _life…_

It was _great._

He _finally_ started to come down from what had been starting to look like a never-ending high, and Morgan eased his grip a little, giving Hiro a few last little pumps. Hiro jerked so violently that he wondered from the small “ow” behind him if he’d accidentally smacked his shoulder into Morgan’s chin or something. He started to laugh, and he sounded just as hysterically _happy_ as he felt.

“S-Sorry,” he got out, shaking like never before. He felt so good right now that he had to wonder if he was _still going._ “F-F- _Fuck… Hah…_ ”

“Yeah, you…” Morgan swallowed audibly, and his mouth sounded dry and sticky. “ _Really_ seemed to enjoy yourself…”

Hiro was starting to feel conscious again, to feel his presence again. To feel his surroundings. He noticed that his boyfriend’s breathing was pitching between pants, and the pain in his lower back was worse than ever. Despite that, Morgan was still doing post-coital aftercare; he was wiping Hiro’s shirt down with a tissue and asking if he felt good and kissing him affectionately in places that weren’t so tormenting.

Hiro couldn’t believe it. He was so overwhelmed with emotion in the awakening realisation of _what had just happened_ that he thought he was going to cry _._

No, that wasn’t just speculation. He _was_ crying. His next breath was a shuddering, whimpering inhale, and tears began to leak from his eyes.

Well… Everything had been great up until the _spontaneous crying._

Hiro’s first thought had been how _embarrassing_ he was – how he was surely killing Morgan’s boner faster than he could try to return the favour, which he really wanted to. But Morgan didn’t seem to think Hiro was being embarrassing at all. No, he was _alarmed and terrified._

It was the most frustrating thing – OK, the _second_ most frustrating thing in the world for Hiro: trying to stop crying enough to tell his fretful boyfriend that he was _happy._

“ _Hiro,_ ” Morgan moaned, throwing his arms around his crying boyfriend and shooshing him frantically. “ _Fuck –_ Hiro, what’s wrong? Was it me? Did I – D-Did I do something _fucking_ awful just now? You gotta tell me – _please._ I… I-I’m _so sorry._ ”

Hiro shook his head a _no,_ but it would’ve had more substance if he could actually manage to _say_ something, to assure Morgan that he hadn’t just done a terrible thing. There was a sane person in there, somewhere, trying to get out and be heard. He was crying and laughing at the same time – not that Morgan could parse any difference between them.

“ _No,_ ” he managed to get out between sobs. He tried to think of just how _devastated_ his boyfriend must’ve been feeling to see him in this state so suddenly, and it seemed to have a strong, sobering effect on him. Well, they both seemed pretty sober by now. Hiro calmed down, and he was calm enough to finally turn and face his boyfriend.

 _God,_ did Morgan look distraught.

“Morg,” he began, and Morgan was too distressed to even incessantly remind Hiro that he absolutely _hated_ being called Morg. Hiro smiled and hoped that being an ugly crier didn’t run in the family. “Th-That. Was. Great. You did _nothing_ wrong. OK? That was amazing.”

Morgan didn’t really seem to buy it. “…Then _why are you crying,_ ” he demanded to know.

It was a fair enough question. But Hiro couldn’t tell him the truth. He couldn’t tell Morgan that that had been the first, from start to finish, consensual sexual contact he’d ever had with another person. It was just some flirting and a bit of foreplay and a hand-job, but it had all meant… _so fucking much_ to him. More than Morgan would ever know.

Just thinking about it made Hiro want to cry and never stop.

Morgan finally muted that god-awful battle music. He took up a hand and held one side of Hiro’s face. He murmured, quiet and plaintive, “Hiro…”

“Just hold me,” Hiro whimpered back, and Morgan didn’t ask any more questions and he didn’t make any excuses to leave. He just did as Hiro asked. He helped Hiro off his lap and gently lay next to him, along on couch. Morgan stayed curled up behind him for what felt like at least _half an hour,_ while Hiro alternated between crying silently and crying uncomfortably loud. Morgan just held him, shooshing him whenever he got too loud. Whispering helpless little things like “it’s OK, you’re gonna be OK” whenever he got too quiet.

For once, Hiro had been in control.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Ahhhh this whole chapter is a bit of a train-wreck in a train-wreck, so I'm really sorry for that... xC Shit gets hard)
> 
> Warning for BIPHOBIA (kinda). Also for Lucy in general. It should be said that while Lucy often has a lot of great advice to give Hiro - not all of it is so great! She is speaking out of the pain and anger and frustration of her own personal experiences. She had a really rough time going through the criminal justice system and she's lashing out. She isn't thinking very rationally here, and she is not entirely unbiased herself.
> 
> Disclaimer = lying is very bad!!! PLEASE no one assume that ANY victims/survivors out there lie about their abuse!! It is very damaging to do so!!
> 
> Thank you all for the lovely comments <3

Hiro walked through the door to what was most definitely a dive bar. The place reeked of smoke and booze and sweat. There were more burly labourers at the bar than there were the overworked businessmen that Hiro was used to seeing, in the kinds of places his colleagues sometimes dragged him off to after work. He saw Lucy behind the bar, and he tried to catch her eye and wave for her attention, but she looked… busy. She’d just put down a couple of shots, and someone other than who must’ve paid for them swooped by and drank them because now she was shouting at them to drop dead.

Hiro looked at the time on his phone. He supposed she had another five or ten minutes before her shift was over, so he found a crummy booth at the back of the joint and slid into the seat. Well, not so much as _slid –_ that implied that the seat was _smooth_. Even the table was sticky, even as he tried to wipe it down with a napkin. He had a glass of water from the jug beside him and Hiro wondered how something so foul tasting – it tasted like dirt mixed with dust – could look so _clean._

He texted Lucy which booth he was in, and then he waited. He wasn’t hungry, so he didn’t order any food. He was still just a little bit overwhelmed with the events that had occurred that Sunday afternoon. His stomach still got into a tight knot whenever he thought about his boyfriend.

“Hey,” Lucy greeted, and Hiro jumped to see her suddenly standing over him. She nodded over to a mysterious closed door beside the bar that Hiro had assumed was a bathroom. “Come on, I’ll show you to an even _nicer_ table.”

Well, it definitely wasn’t a bathroom. Hiro followed her into what was just a cosy little room with a hanging light, plush red seating around the perimeter, and a table in the middle. He laid his hand on the table surface and there wasn’t a thick un-sticking noise as he pulled it away again. Lucy motioned him in and she sat down opposite him, setting down a bottle of tequila and two shot glasses.

Hiro stared at her like she was joking. “Um,” he began, raising a hand to indicate _stop_ as she filled both glasses. “I uh, have work tomorrow.”

She shrugged at him, like what was his point. “So do I.”

“You don’t have to get up at six, though.”

She tossed her glass back and Hiro didn’t toss his. She stared between him and the glass, like she expected him to finish it, like it was a plate of broccoli or green beans he didn’t want and he was a stubborn kid all over again.

“Just _one,_ ” she abruptly cried. “C’mon, I work in a _bar_ – what was the point in meeting me here if you didn’t want a drink?”

“I just wanted to talk to you,” Hiro protested. “ _You_ were the one who told me to come here.”

She groaned wearily, but drank his shot for him anyway. She filled up her own glass again and flicked the second one to the side. “So,” she said, looking up and smirking. “What got you so spooked today that you just had to see me?”

“I didn’t get _spooked,_ I just…” Hiro checked to see that the door was firmly closed. But he lowered his voice anyway. “Can I tell you something in absolute – _complete_ confidence?”

She shrugged. “Sure.”

Hiro would’ve liked her to be a bit more convincing than that, but he supposed that was the best he was going to get out of her. “You’re my friend, right? And I can trust you with uh… sensitive issues?”

She raised a slim eyebrow at him. “Are you going to tell me there’s something wrong with your junk?”

Hiro thought about it for a second. “The… opposite?”

“There’s something _right_ with your junk?” she asked, intrigued, and Hiro nodded. Lucy had another shot and leaned back against the wall, shaking her head and smiling to herself like he was just so ridiculous. “Go on then.”

“Uh…” Hiro tapped his fingers against the table. He was bouncing his leg, a little excited and a little nervous. He’d never really had anyone since his therapist he could discuss these sorts of thing with, and it was great. “Well… So… You know how we’ve been going _over_ and over all of those safe and consensual sex procedures for RST, right? All that ‘ask me first’ stuff?” She nodded, but she was also rolling her eyes with the memory. “I think it had a… really huge effect on me. Like, I’ve been in a _lot_ of relationships, but I’ve never really done anything… sexual with anyone before. I never _wanted_ to.”

“That’s not uncommon,” she muttered. Her eyes were closed now; she looked like she was sleeping, but she was still responding to him. She sounded only mildly drowsy. “So, what… You got laid or something?”

“Or something,” he said. He grinned when she peeked at him with one eye. He knew that his cheeks were very pink right now but he was going to try to chalk that up to the fact that the small, airless room was getting very warm veryquickly. He took off his hoodie to exemplify that. “I got to first base.”

She scoffed. “Whoop-dee-do.”

“What? No, you don’t get it – _that_ was the… the first time I ever actually _wanted_ it, you know?”

“I know,” she assured him, nodding gently. “I understand. Good for you.”

He beamed just to hear say that. “Yeah, it was… _so great._ But then I…” He gulped as a pang of embarrassment spiked through him, like it had been doing intermittently all evening, ever since he’d managed to get a grip and tell Morgan again and again how _sorry_ he was. Hiro hoped he could trust her not to make him feel any worse about it than he already did. “I just sort of… cried. When it was over.”

“Oh my God,” she murmured, and she wasn’t doing all that much to stem her sudden bout of laughter. She poured herself out another drink and she almost split it. “You _cried?”_

“ _Heeey_ ,” Hiro whined, feeling defensive and still so _humiliated,_ and she wasn’t helping. He rubbed at his cheeks and tried to hide the fact that they were now flaming _._ “Don’t laugh at me… It was… I just got really emotional. Everything was just so _nice,_ and I thought about all those times I’d just been abused or manipulated, and… I couldn’t fucking _help_ it, OK – I just _bawled_ like a stupid little kid. My partner was so terrified.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” she snorted, grabbing yet another drink, and Hiro wondered how many more of those she was going to have. Then she leaned forward, sighing, and fixed him with a resolute stare. It was the kind of stare that was often paired with her highly valued, worldly advice. “Look, it’s OK. Crying during and after sex might seem terrifying, especially to people like us, but it’s been known to happen. Intense feelings of intimacy and happiness, that kind of thing – you won’t see a lot of people talking about it, but we should, because it’s a perfectly natural response. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Just tell your partner to take it as a compliment and move on.”

It was such a relief to hear. He started to feel a little less weird about it. “I – I tried to explain it, to my partner. But… I don’t know. I didn’t really want to, but I wondered if… maybe I should’ve told Morgan about the abu–“

“ _No._ ” She banged her fist on the table, the glasses clanking. It startled him. “No, Hiro. _Fuck_ that shit. You’re not obligated to tell _anyone_ you have sex with or get into a relationship with about what happened to you. That’s _not_ their business. A history of sexual abuse is not like an STI. Besides.” She had such a bitter, twisted look on her face as she poured herself another drink. She barely winced anymore as she knocked them back; she downed them like water. “It just freaks people the fuck out anyway. You just watch – you tell them, and they’ll never touch you. Either that,” she added in a dark mumble, “or they’ll never fucking stop touching you.”

Hiro stared at her with wide eyes for a few moments, shocked into silence. He imagined that she was speaking from her own painful experiences, but he didn’t want to ask. She was looking a little bit slumped on that table, a little bit down, a little bit… unstable.

She reached for the bottle again and he forced himself to speak up. “Hey,” he said quietly, and in the most non-confrontational voice he could muster, “Luce, you’re drinking a lot of that really fast.”

She settled him with a glare. “What? You really think you know what a lot of alcohol is? You – the _engineer_ – are actually going to tell a bartender that she’s not drinking responsibly? Huh? Fuck off.”

“Sorry,” Hiro whispered. He felt a little hurt. For all the people he’d witnessed her yell at to fuck off, she’d never said those words to him without a whole lot of joking and merriment behind them, but there was none of that to be found here. The room was quiet and tense now. He wondered if he should just go.

He shuffled out from his seat and she demanded to know, “Where are you going?”

He moved his eyes around the room awkwardly. “Um... You told me to fuck off. So I will.”

“ _No,_ ” she groaned, sounding so irritated and frustrated with him. “Sit back down, you moron. I meant fuck off as in _get off my case._ I don’t want you to go just yet.”

Hiro reclaimed his seat, a little confused, but he tried to smile for her, to show that everything was fine and he was there and it was all good. He had no idea what to say now but, luckily, she didn’t leave him for an extended period of time to think up a new topic.

“The seminar’s in a week,” she sighed, a little dejected. “Feeling nervous?”

“Yeah, a bit.”

“Got a speech ready yet?”

“I thought I’d… speak from the heart?” He tried to laugh. “No, I don’t have a speech yet… I should get onto that. But…”

“But what?”

He lowered his head and stared at all the little bangs and dings and scratches on his side of the table. He ran his fingers over them distractedly as he tried to put his enormous unease into coherent words. “I’ve been feeling kind of worried lately that… when I talk, people won’t take me seriously. I’m worried that… people will think I’m lying. That I’m just making it up.” He felt his heart tighten in his chest. He’d had enough fucking problems growing up with people thinking that he was lying. “I mean, I’m not very credible. I never even tried to get my abusers convicted.”

“Wow.” Hiro looked up to see that she was even more pissed off at him than she had been a few minutes ago. “So, let me tell you what was wrong with what you just said.”

“What?” Hiro panicked. The very _last_ thing he wanted to do was upset her again. “What, what did I say?”

“Oh, well you pretty much just _spat_ in the face of every victim out there who went to court and _didn’t_ get their rapist convicted. Including mine. So thanks for that.”

“I… I’m sorry!” He raised his hands to defend his innocence. “I’m sorry – I didn’t mean that at all.”

Lucy scoffed and patted his hands back down. She seemed to take pity on him. “ _Look,_ Hiro… It doesn’t matter. OK? By not going through the criminal justice system, you just saved yourself a whole lot of humiliation and ridicule that you didn’t need, on top of everything else. If every victim needed their abuser behind bars before they could go forth and share their story then… well, what would be the fucking point in raising awareness? It’s the injustices that fuel the people. You’re not speaking on behalf of everyone who _did_ get their abuser imprisoned. You’re speaking on behalf of all the people who have yet to come forward. Who don’t have a voice. You resonate with them a hell of a lot more this way.”

Hiro nodded, but he wasn’t quite sure. He wondered if it would’ve filled an audience with more hope if he could confidently tell them that he’d received justice, that it was possible for people like him. But what she said made sense, he supposed.

“So… You went to court?” he dared to ask.

“Twice. My step-dad was acquitted both times.”

“Fuck,” Hiro exclaimed. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well… my case was pretty typical, apparently. Before we even went to trial, they were already trying to set me up with someone to console me in the _very_ likely event that I’d lose. _God_ , was it awful. We practically left my step-dad _gift-wrapped_ for conviction, but… Nope. Fuck that. My case fell through for a number of reasons, but you know what the stupidest one was?” she asked, looking straight at Hiro, and he shook his head wordlessly. “The defence dug up all of my stupid posts back from when I was just a stupid kid on the internet. All of my ‘boy, I sure wish I had a giant cock to suck on right about now’ posts that came back to bite me in the ass.”

“Seriously?” Hiro shook his head helplessly. “But… that’s… Those are just _jokes._ ”

“Nope. They were proof of my promiscuity.”

“But that’s _ridiculous._ ”

“Look, Hiro, you have to understand… To get a proper conviction, you’ve got to be the _perfect victim_ , and I was far from it.”

Hiro felt himself shiver. “The… perfect victim?”

“Yep. The perfect victim. Let’s see now…” She raised her hands and looked up thoughtfully as she started to list off all the traits. “You gotta be female, young, compliant, pretty but _pure_ – which as we all know is just code for clueless virgin – and you gotta have a clean history. A _very_ clean history. Oh, and it also helps if you’re from _around here_ too.”

“Wow,” Hiro murmured, feeling just a little bit sick, deep in the pit of his stomach. He couldn’t tell if she was just _extremely_ jaded, or… if she was actually telling him the harsh truths of how the world worked. “You… kinda lost me at ‘female’.”

“Well, maybe there is hope for you yet. Was ‘my partner’ code for ‘my boyfriend’? Are you gay?”

“I’m not gay but–”

“Oh, good. That would’ve worked against you.”

“Well,” he tried to correct her, “I’m bi, but–“

“Oh.” She starting shaking her head, like he couldn’t have said anything worse _,_ and Hiro itched with rising panic. “ _Never_ let them know you’re bisexual. That’ll hurt your chances at a fair trial even more. If there’s one thing people hate more than gay guys, it’s bisexualguys. Straight guys hate them – _hell_ , I’ve even come across a couple of gay guys in my time who thought bisexuals were diseased sluts who just needed to make up their minds already.”

Hiro’s mouth fell open. He had absolutely no idea that that stereotype even existed. All of a sudden he was thankful he hardly ever bothered to correct anyone who made the blatant assumption he was straight.

“I guess,” he finally uttered, “I’m not a perfect victim then, either.”

“Oh, you can be. It’s possible… If you lie.”

Now he definitely felt sick. “ _Lie?”_

“Yep. Lie. Well, let’s not say lie. How about… omitting certain truths? _Exaggerating the truth.”_

As soon as she said those words, Hiro felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He’d definitely heard that phrase before.

Hiro didn’t know what was wrong with her tonight, whether she really _was_ drinking too much, or it had been a stressful day, or… She’d been so good to him these past few weeks. Not only had she become his new best friend; she had become his unofficial mentor. She had taken him under her wing and taken care of him. She was his pillar of support. But now she was being… brutally honest. About everything.

And she was beginning to sound like a bad influence.

“What do you mean,” Hiro asked very cautiously.

“I _mean,_ hide your orientation. _Don’t_ let anyone know you’re bi – people will just think you’re a slut. My advice to you would be to ditch all of your boyfriends, pretend you never had any. Just settle for a girl.”

“I’m… I’m not gonna _dump Morgan_.” Hiro started to smile because he just couldn’t take her seriously right now. All of these suggestions were… absurd. “Are… Are you seriously telling me to get rid of the one person I _just_ made a connection with? Wh… What the hell?”

“Look, _kid_ ,” she growled, and it came out as such an insult. “One thing at a time, yeah? We’re already pushing our luck with Andy and his rapist ex-boyfriend.”

“Wait – are you talking about the court or the seminar?”

“Either of them. _Both._ Look – you would lie, wouldn’t you?”

“ _No._ ”

She went on like she couldn’t even hear him. “Even if it was for a good cause? If it got you a better shot at justice? If it saved _others?_ It doesn’t even fucking matter what you say sometimes. You could tell people the honest to God _truth_ and they’d _still_ say you were lying. You could tell them that you were held down and punched in the face and told that you were a dirty fucking hoe, and that _might_ get their attention. That might make people think that you’re not lying.”

“Because no sane person _lies_ about that kind of thing,” Hiro exclaimed, incredulous. “You just don’t… fucking _lie,_ Luce _._ We have enough problems as it is with victims coming forward honestly _,_ and abusers and other assholes turning them away, or… or telling them that they’re lying in some way. And yet you want victims to lieand lose all credibility? _”_

“Don’t you fucking _get it_ , Hiro?”

She leaned forward and savagely grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him over the table until he was uncomfortably close to her face. Her red eyes darted between both of his, and they looked… mad. Hiro’s heart thudded in his chest like a war drum.

“Don’t you fucking see? We _need_ this. Those so-called _justice_ officials – they’re already liars. Cops will tamper with evidence to protect their own felons, judges will hold biases just as stark as the shit your racist great-uncle says, and lawyers just want your money. They’ll steal details about your personal life that don’t even have anything to _do_ with the abuse, and they’ll use them to tell you that _you are wrong._ Cases would go through a hell of a lot easier if all that extraneous stuff was out of the way. Right? _Everything_ is already tipped in their favour. _Why_ can’t we try to tip it back in ours? Why can’t we balance it? Why can’t we play by their stupid rules and make it so that it’s _fair?”_

Her breath stank of tequila. He tried to pull away from her, but she wouldn’t let him go. Her grip was fiercely tight. He tried to pry her fingers off of him but it was like trying to bend iron. “Luce,” he said, pushing at her shoulders, pushing her _away_. “Lucy – let go of my shirt.”

“You just don’t _fucking understand._ ”

“ _Get off me.”_

She did let go of him, and Hiro fell back in his seat, knocking his head on the wall behind him. He rubbed at the small painful throb as he stared at her reproachfully. He didn’t know what the _hell_ had come over her.

A sombre expression settled over her features then. She looked she had no idea what had come over her either.

“Sorry,” she said finally, swallowing slow and with a lot of difficulty. There was a wobbling glimmer to her eyes as she stared at him. Her voice was so quiet. “I don’t know why I said all that. I think I’m just… bitter. Sometimes, you wanna see the people who made you suffer… You want to see themsuffer _so bad_.”

“I… I know, Luce. I know.”

She folded her arms on the table, rested her head on them, and immediately started quivering with tears. Hiro went to her side and put his arms around her, rubbing her back. He felt like shit. He couldn’t think of anything consoling to say. He just sat there with his friend, ignoring the time, letting her get it all out of her system. And then he walked her home.

He laid awake in bed that night for hours, trying not to think too hard about anything she’d said.

Lying was wrong, and that was that.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's another chapter several hours later because I just can't seem to stop writing haha... .-.
> 
> (I'm gonna use the 'this is just fiction!' card here, because I'm sure that even in MY very liberal country, most schools wouldn't allow even their oldest students to go to an event where rape survivors were going to share their personal stories... maybe.)
> 
> Thank you for the comments <3

Hiro wasn’t terrific at public speaking, but he was more than a little used to it by now. He’d gotten used to it during his final years at SFIT, and he regularly exercised that ability by presenting his latest and greatest inventions to his colleagues and employers every few months or so.

The thing he wasn’t really used to, however, was speaking in front of _kids._ Well, not kids. Teenagers. Did it really matter? They all sort of looked like babies to Hiro now – even though a lot of arrogant people he worked with claimed _he_ was still gangly and baby-faced, like a teenager. All Hiro’s life he’d been used to talking to people who were so much older than him. It was a staggering change to be faced with an expansive crowd of adolescents for once. They must’ve been… Hiro couldn’t quite say. Seventeen, eighteen?

And, as if speaking in front of kids – sorry, teenagers – hadn’t been enough of an intimidating notion on its own, he was supposed to be speaking to them about _sexual abuse._

Oh God. He shouldn’t have eaten. He was going to bring up his lunch.

He was nervous. He was _so_ nervous. Others around him claimed that there were nervous, but then they always went on to do something productive and useful, or they made an expression that was more in line with excitement and preparedness. Hiro had neither of those emotions to mitigate just how goddamn nervous he was. All he had was Lucy’s hand in his own sweaty hand, and a cup of water in his other that he drained too quickly each time it was kindly filled up for him.

There were in a lecture hall, and a large one at that. He watched with wide, fearful eyes as row after row after row filled up with a rowdy mix of uniformed and un-uniformed high school students. Hiro did some quick math to distract himself and counted three hundred and twenty chairs. Almost every seat was being taken. There were a _lot_ of people. And they were all laughing. Hiro knew that there was no conceivable way that they were collectively laughing at _him,_ but that was just how he felt. Like three hundred people had congregated just to laugh at him.

He made a small whimper in the back of his throat that only Lucy could hear. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

Lucy grabbed his chin and forced his face back to her. She was so stern in her support. “You _can_ do this. We’ve rehearsed this a hundred times before. You did your little speech in front of me and it was perfect every time. You’re gonna do fine.”

“Am I?”

“Yes,” she promised, and she was so sincere that Hiro wanted to believe her. “I know you will.”

“What if they laugh at me?”

“If anyone laughs at you,” she said, hiking her voice right up so that a few teachers sitting in the front row could overhear her, “then I will dive into that crowd of raging hormones, and shove my hand down their throats,” – Hiro covered his mouth as he laughed at the sudden horror on the eavesdropping teachers’ faces – “and beatthem to death with their own windpipes. OK?”

He trusted that she would and nodded jerkily. “OK. Thanks.”

“Stop worrying.” She gave him a smack on the cheek, even though the time to dramatically cure his hysteria had come and passed. “Go and lend hope to all the little Hiros out there.”

\-------

It was the second half of the seminar that Hiro was scheduled to do his short speech, along with several other survivors who Hiro considered a lot braver than he was. He was to talk right after Andy, who was another male survivor like himself. Andy was only nineteen, but he talked a _hell_ of a lot better than most of them did. His story was that he’d been trapped in a severely abusive relationship for two years. He was there to tell queer youth that they didn’t have to be afraid to speak out if they’d been hurt by a same-sex partner.

Hiro couldn’t listen to the seminar. It was going well, he assumed, but he didn’t know. He clapped when he needed to, he chuckled when others did, but he didn’t listen, which was fine considering he’d been through a full rehearsal and heard everyone speak before. He couldn’t focus on anything; he kept going over his lines in his head, like a broken music file, just skipping constantly and jumping back and forth at random. He told himself to breathe, when he really meant to tell himself to calm down, and he ended up getting into stupid factious debates with himself.

Time got away from Hiro _fast,_ and then he was suddenly being prodded up out of his chair because it was his turn to speak. Andy’s applause was just dying out, and Hiro was handed the microphone as he stiffly moved to the centre of the stage. Except that it was a lecture hall, and he was staring _up_ at his audience rather than down at them.

It was terrifying. But he kept his ground. He didn’t ran away screaming like he wanted to.

“Hi,” he greeted, nodding once. He forced his dry throat to swallow and hoped that the microphone hadn’t somehow picked it up. “I’m Hiro. I’m twenty-six. I’m a robotics engineer. And, when I was fourteen, I was sexually abused by my aunt.”

He paused, pinned under the crowd’s enduring gaze. If anyone had laughed then they’d gone a damn good job of being subtle about it. Or maybe Lucy worked fast.

He wandered around the floor a little, one of his hands deep in his pocket. His reasoning was that if he made an effort to look casual, maybe he could trick himself into _being_ casual. He tried to talk as if it were still just him and Lucy in a small room.

“My parents died when I was quite young and, my brother and I, we went to live with my aunt. Things were normal for a while. I don’t mean to brag but,” he cracked a smile, “I was a _really_ smart kid. By the time I was thirteen, I had already finished high school. But I didn’t really know what I wanted to do. I kindof wanted to be a professional bot fighter, but uh… my brother thought I could do something more with my big brain. So for a while I just sort of… hung around the house all day, doing my own thing, building this and that. I thought I was alone, but I wasn’t.”

He held the shaking microphone away from his mouth as he took a deep breath.

_So, this is happening._

“I can’t really remember how it started. My aunt had been acting… weird around me. It started out with hugs that went on for too long, and questions that made me uncomfortable to answer, and kissing that moved to the lips instead of the cheek, where it had always been. I didn’t really know at the time what she was doing. Because I just accelerated through high school, I never got to go to events like these.” He gestured the set. “I was too young. So no one ever told me about safe sex, or STIs, or anything like that. No one ever told me to watch out for the creepy babysitter who tickled kids under their clothes. I guess people just sort of assumed that I already knew all that stuff. But, I was naïve. And that made me vulnerable.

“One day, my aunt got into bed with me and showed me a movie with a very explicit sex scene. That had been the first time she molested me. I definitely knew by then that something was wrong. I tried to avoid her, but things just escalated, and within a week she had already raped me.”

Saying it aloud, in front of so many young faces made him feel faint; he had to stop pacing or he would’ve staggered.

It took him a little longer than planned to start talking again.

“M… Much later, she would try to tell me and my brother that it was consensual. That I was just a horny teenage boy who knewwhat was happening and didn’t try to stop it, so I obviously must’ve wantedit. That I was a ‘lucky boy’ because on older woman was showing me attention. I know that’s… probably a common fantasy for some of you, but it never was for me. There was nothing fun or enjoyable about it. I was scared and confused, and I felt suffocated, and I didn’t know how I was ever going to get out.

“So this went on for a few months, and I become severely anxious and depressed. I wanted to leave her house, but my brother wouldn’t let me. He didn’t understand why I didn’t want to be in the same room with our aunt. He didn’t even really understand when I first told him that she was abusing me. He kind of thought… but it’s our _aunt._ Right? She was so nice, and lovely, and people like her just didn’t do those awful things to kids like me. It took pretty much _years_ to convince him that she wasn’t just abusive, but incredibly manipulative as well. Still, I got out. My brother took me out after I threatened to run away, and only then did I start to feel safe again. I tried to get my life back on track. But, even though I didn’t have to see her anymore, what she’d done still… haunted me. Even to this day, it still haunts me.”

He paused to have a small drink. He knew there was just _so_ much more he could say, but he didn’t want to depress and disturb these kids any more than he already was.

“I understand why a lot of people don’t disclose their abuse to others. I really do. It’s hard. It’s… one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do in my entire life. There were a lot of reasons why I didn’t come forward immediately, many of which I have in common with other victims. But, as I said, I was naïve. I didn’t know I was being abused, or that I could’ve gotten outside help. And I just so happened to be a boy who was being raped by a woman. A woman who was also my aunt and my trusted caregiver… When people hear ‘statutory rape’ they almost always think… what? Creepy, older man preys on a young girl – or maybe that same man preys on young boys. But very rarely will people consider a female abusing a young boy. It goes against the stereotype, right? Women are nurturing, the selfless caregivers, the docile sex. They’re not sexually aggressive or intimidating, and they definitely don’t take advantage of boys. But I’m here as living proof that women _can_ rape boys. And it’s just as traumatic as any other victim’s experience.”

It was almost over. He was _so close_ to finishing. He was so close to just wrapping it all up and getting out from underneath this giant microscope.

“So… As it’s been said before, males can be victims too. But _females can be abusers too._ Anyone can be an abuser, and anyone can be abused. This organisation is here to give its support to _all_ victims, regardless of gender or orientation or any other circumstances. So, uh…” He looked up to the bright projector screen to see that his own slide had just come up, and he pointed to it. God, he was still shaking like a leaf. “Um… Please use the helplines, they’re great, but… If for whatever reason you’d feel more comfortable talking to _me_ , then that’s my email up there. I’d be more than happy to talk to anyone, or answer any questions about female-on-male sexual abuse, or anything like that. I’m here to help. So, uh… My name is Hiro and, um… thank you for listening.”

He gave a small bow. He could barely feel his body anymore as he calmly fled the stage and tried to make it back to his chair without collapsing first. There were a _lot_ of people applauding around him, and his ears were ringing with their approval, their appreciation, their _support_.

Alice appeared beside him then. She was kneeling next to him, patting him on the arm, smiling big and proud. “That was very good, Hiro,” she told him, and it was a miracle he could ever hear her. “You did _very_ well. You’re very brave to do what you just did. I’m sure a lot of young men appreciate your courage.”

Hiro sure hoped so.

\-------

The day after the seminar, Alice and Hiyori called another meeting to jubilantly announce their success. The seminar had had such glowing reviews and hefty donations and online positivity that the university wanted their organisation to host more seminars. At least four or five more. For all the top year groups of various high schools across the city to receive rape sensitivity training.

Hiro had people telling him left right and centre that he’d done an amazing job, but he’d never really believed it until Lucy told him that the phones had been ringing off the hook. He pointed out that she shouldn’t have acted like that was such a _good_ thing, but she argued that it _was_ a good thing. Obviously, in an ideal world, their organisation would be of little use to modern society, because everyone would respect each other, and people would somehow manage to refrain from sexually assaulting one another. But, they were starting to help those who had needed help a long time ago, and had just never known where to go. People were starting to reach out.

It wasn’t just the students who’d seen the seminar first-hand who were calling, Lucy said. It was children, it was young adults, it was middle-aged adults who had suffered as children. It was queer and straight people alike. It was females and moremales than they’d ever had before.

After they’d finished their third seminar, Hiro’s email was flooded daily with new messages. Sure, some of them were hoaxes, because his email was out there now, floating around on social media, and that kind of misuse tended to happen. He even got some hate mail every now and again. But, overall, a lot of people were grateful. Curious. Inspired.

He stayed up into the small hours of the night just trying to read and answer as many emails as he could. He was losing _so much sleep_ – but he didn’t care. He was doing something _amazing_ with his time _._ He was correcting harmful misinformation, he was destroying stereotypes, and he was changing attitudes. He was helping people, just like himself. He was helping sexually victimised boys to realise that they weren’t alone. That they didn’t have to stay silent anymore. That there was hope.

Hiro wished his brother could see all of the good he was doing.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yaaaay actual characters from the actual movie in this chapter whoooo! So there's a lot of drama in this one .-. also some... crudeness? And some minor physical assault? Nothing too graphic, but fair warning. (So much drama though.)
> 
> I apologise that every chapter is so LONG now - I need to work on keeping them short. Also, they may get a little less frequent from here on out since I'm back at uni now.
> 
> Special thank you to teengens, who always manages to find something to comment on each chapter haha (you're a rockstar ;D)

Hiro had been walking home from Morgan’s place late one night when he heard it. One of his brother’s robots, a Baymax. Hiro recognised it almost immediately; for all the countless upgrades those robots had been through over the years, the friendly robotic voice hadn’t been altered at all.

 _Huh,_ he thought, stopping in his tracks, casting his eyes about the dimly-lit street for the robot. It sounded like it was outside, but it shouldn’t have been outside. Besides, it was a fairly dense and tenant-heavyarea of the city he was passing through; there weren’t any hospitals or retirement villages anywhere near where he was, and they weren’t even remotely close to the Institute of Technology. What was a _Baymax_ doing in this part of town?

And then Hiro figured it out, upon hearing a loud _thwack,_ followed by the baleful, spitting laughter of several men. The Baymax had been _stolen._ His own brother’s work, disrespected.

The sounds were coming from a back alley between towering old brick apartment complexes, and Hiro peered down it. It was dark, but what Hiro couldn’t see he could definitely _smell;_ he covered his nose, blocking out the aroma of soggy garbage and rotting food and piss. The back alley went straight through to the other side of the buildings, blocked off by a tall chain link fence and a large skip. He squinted and thought he saw the tubby outline of a Baymax there, surrounded by shadows.

The Baymax was talking to them. It was shudderingly commenting on their unusually high aggression levels and giving them suggestions as to how they could be lowered, including, but not limited to, going for a run or surveying some lovely scenery. The men – there were three of them from what Hiro could see – just laughedand went “ _oooh_ ” like they had just been dissed on by a robot.

What Hiro saw made his stomach churn with nerves and _hatred._ They pushed Baymax around, they punched him in his head, they gave base suggestions that made the Baymax proclaim “I fail to see how that would make me a better healthcare companion”. He heard the rattle and hiss of a spray paint can.

Hiro couldn’t just walk away, like he knew he should’ve. Anti-robot protestors had given his brother enough grief already. He had to do something. He had to intervene.

“ _Hey!”_ he yelled out, and the thugs spun around so quick that they dropped their spray can. They didn’t scatter, only stared as Hiro advanced towards him. He tried to make himself look big and intimidating, his eyebrows frowning low over his eyes. “What the hell are you guys doing?”

It was only until he came to a stop several feet away from them, as close as he dared to approach them, that they unfroze. Hiro could see them up close too, and it was clear that they didn’t spend the bulk of their days hunched over a desk indoors like he did.

“Beat it, kid,” one of them said, as they began to turn their backs on him. And it _really_ rubbed Hiro the wrong way.

“ _Fuck you,_ ” he spat. “Where did you get that robot from?”

“Oh, I dunno.” Another one shrugged one shoulder, grinning smug at his mates. “Found ‘im.”

Hiro set his jaw. “Found him, huh,” he growled.

He could see now what they’d done to Baymax. They’d spray-painted an ejaculating penis, right onto his stomach. Right over the in-built screen, which was rolling with static a little. A penis. A fucking _penis._

“You are going to fucking _pay_ for that,” Hiro shouted, fists clenched and trembling by his sides. The three thugs gradually faced him again, sighing frustrated. “This is property damage – that robot belongs to my brother, _Tadashi Hamada._ I _know_ you fucking stole it. It’s _not_ yours so just – Give it back right now and I won’t call the cops. _I’m serious._ ”

They ignored him. Hiro wanted to just grab someone’s arm, spin them around, and punch them right in the head to see how _they_ liked it, but he refrained, on account of not wanting his ass handed to him on a silver platter.

He wished he could’ve refrained from picking up a crumpled can, aiming it at the back of someone’s head and making a perfect toss, though.

“ _Leave that Baymax alone._ ”

They rounded on him so fast that Hiro staggered back, bumping into some old trash bins. They’d left the Baymax alone, just as he’d asked. But now they were interested in him.

Before Hiro could even think to look for an exit, they already had him surrounded and backed into a wall, cornering him like an animal. He didn’t have the strength to just bowl right through them, and he didn’t think he could duck out between them without the risk of someone clobbering him to the stinking, wet pavement. His back was flat against the wall and he could feel a scream building in the back of his throat.

One man got uncomfortably close. He smacked a hand to the wall beside Hiro’s head and leaned in, his eyes searching and his smile mirthless. “Why are you doing this, _kid?_ Hm? What’s so important about a stupid _robot_ that you would actually try to pick a fight with three big, shady guys in a place like this, huh?”

“I wasn’t trying to pick a fight,” Hiro said, and he _hated_ the way his voice squeaked, just a tiny bit.

“Yeah? Sure fucking sounded like you were trying to pick a fight.”

The men drew closer, enclosing Hiro in a tight, dark circle. He was vaguely aware of other sounds – of a motorbike racing in the street, and Baymax trying to speak, and trash bins spilling open as he knocked them over – but it was hard to hear over the noise of his heartbeat in his head. He was just about to stammer something like “get away from me” when a look of pure enlightenment overcame one man’s face.

“Hey,” he said, stopping his threatening advance, and the other two thugs joined him. The enlightenment turned sneering as he raised a dirty finger and pointed it right at Hiro. “I recognise this clown. He’s that guy everyone’s been talking about, from those campaigns – the one who thinks he was raped by his mom or something.”

Hiro’s heart felt like it had stopped, even though he could still hear it thumping in his ears _._ He’d never heard anyone say it like that before, so barefaced, so indiscreet, so… _wrong._

They started to laugh.

“Yeah, yeah!” they cried, holding their sides like they were seconds from splitting, barking with laughter and stumbling about. Their speech slurred and blurred together as Hiro’s body went numb and cold, and he watched with a lifeless gaze as they mocked him derisively, and made fun of the experiences he had so bravely shared. They said to each other in high-pitched, distressed damsel voices “ _oh no, how did I get balls deep in this pussy, I must’ve been raped!”_ and laughed some more.

And then he was being shoved back into the wall, his body unguarded and helpless against the blows that connected with it. Someone was curling a fist into the front of his shirt. “You think you’re on the same level as my little sister?” someone growled in his face. “She was raped by my uncle for _years_. _She_ needed help, not horny lying little brats like you. You’re just trying to take away from real victims. Aren’t you?”

He waited for Hiro to deny it, but Hiro didn’t respond. The man spat in Hiro’s face.

“You piece of _shit._ ”

Someone grabbed a handful of his hair, drew his head back, and slammed it into the wall, all in one fluid motion. Hiro couldn’t pretend not to feel that one this time. He winced, crumpling to the ground, his head loudly rippling with _pain_. He instinctively curled in on himself, preparing for the worst, for a merciless beating, for whatever lesson they were going to teach him, but then they were patting each other and telling each other to look, look, look.

Hiro didn’t need to raise his head to look. He could already hear the sirens in the distance.

The thugs’ shoes scuffed against the pavement as they sprinted away, the skip lid banging and the fence chiming as they made their way over. They were fleeing the scene. The cops were coming.

_Get up._

A small part of Hiro didn’t want to, but he forced himself. If he didn’t get up now, then he never would.

_Get. Up._

Hiro woozily pulled himself back up to his feet. His head was spinning. His jeans were disgusting now; he tried to brush the grime away, but all that did was smear in the stains and dirty his hands.

Flashing red and blue lights were reflected in the wet pavement. At the entrance to the back alley was just a standard police vehicle, and two uniformed officers were brusquely walking towards him. Hiro leaned against a wall for support, one hand tenderly nursing the aching throb that was his entire head.

“Sir?” one of them asked. “Sir, what seems to be the problem here?”

Hiro shook his head wordlessly. They mustn’t have seen the thugs take off. Well, they had been quick. But then Hiro didn’t understand what the hell two cops were even doing here.

“…Sir?”

“No, nothing – there’s no problem,” Hiro muttered, and he forced himself to look into both sets of quizzical eyes. He tried to assure them again, “There’s no problem.”

The cops shared a look that meant nothing to Hiro, and then the one speaking to him gave a small frustrated sigh. “Then why were we called out here?”

“No one called,” Hiro said, but then he realised as soon as the words had left his mouth. He turned to the Baymax standing a ways behind him, still battered and deflated and blinking jerkily. The offensive graffiti on his stomach had already run and dried. “Baymax,” Hiro addressed the robot, confused. “You… called the police?”

“I _eeee_ lrted the authorities to your assau _llll_ t.” The robot sounded so broken. “Since I could not interv _eeeee-_ ene.”

Hiro hated to think what would’ve happened if Baymax hadn’t done that. He shouldn’t have needed a robot to save him; he should’ve just called the cops and walked away. He’d never felt so stupid in his entire life.

“You should’ve alerted them to your own assault, buddy,” he said quietly as he began to distract himself, inspecting the damage. Minor blunt force trauma. Partially operational. But he couldn’t be sure the Baymax wasn’t going to fizz out at any second without taking a proper look at the hardware, in better light, and maybe somewhere else that wasn’t a filthy back alley in the bad end of town.

He noticed that the officers were still there, just staring at the robot like it wasn’t a thing of this world. Hiro wondered if they were staring at Baymax like that because he looked so broken and defiled, or if it was because they wouldn’t have minded taking a few shots at the robot either.

“Thanks, officers,” Hiro said, directing their attention back to him. He looked down at his feet and rubbed at his temples with one hand tiredly. “I’ll… file a complaint later. I’ll send you his,” he gestured Baymax, “footage, and… you can get the guys who stole him and beat him up. I’ll take him back to his owner now.”

“His owner?”

“His creator – whatever,” he murmured, and he froze to think that he’d sounded so dismissive in front of police officers. Police officers who didn’t even want to be there.

“Whatever,” the speaking one echoed curtly. The other cop had already started walking back to their vehicle, shaking their head and crossly muttering under their breath something about stupid kids and their stupid toys. The remaining officer gave an insincere smile and a tip of his hat. “Have a good night, Sir. So sorry to have wasted your time.”

Hiro waited until both cops were in their car and had driven away from the mouth of the back alley before he turned back to Baymax. “Come on, buddy,” he whispered, wiping a sleeve across his face. He tugged at the robot’s arm, but it didn’t seem to understand that it wanted to be led somewhere. “We’ve gotta…” He swallowed. “W-We’ve gotta get you home to Tadashi, to get repaired. How’s your battery?”

Baymax shuddered out a corrupted voice recorded percentage that Hiro couldn’t quite make out. He sighed.

“Great, that’s… just great.” He sniffed. “Is your charging station with you, or…?”

He looked around, since Baymax wasn’t much help anymore, and he found it a few feet away amongst some piles of trash. He must’ve mistaken it for some old red child’s toy box before, when he’d almost landed on it. He opened it up, popped out the dents, and put it down for Baymax to awkwardly step into. “I’m satisfied with my care,” he said, sounding anything but.

\-------

He took a cab to Tadashi’s place, even though it was only several blocks away, even though the Baymax was compact and weightless, even though it was costing him. He shuddered to think that he could just walk the short distance to his brother’s house, after what had happened. What had almost happened.

They probably hadn’t been expecting company. He was standing on the porch for at least a minute after he rang the doorbell, with his head bowed and the Baymax wedged between his arm and his side. Not that he minded being left to wait. It gave him more than enough time to just focus on his breathing.

Mei was the one to open the door. She was a nurse, and Tadashi’s partner of five years. They weren’t married, but they may as well have been. She was lovely anyway. She smiled her surprise, gave him a hug, and welcomed him into the warm kitchen, where the smell of a good dinner still hung in the air, mixed with some kind of citrus detergent. She talked at him for a bit, asking him this and that while they waited for Tadashi, and Hiro responded perfunctorily, not really listening. He accepted a can of soda from her and drank, and he didn’t stop drinking until it was almost empty. Well, that had fucked up his breathing.

“Hiro?”

Hiro looked up to see his older brother at the top of the stairs, leaning over the railing. Tadashi looked like he didn’t know whether to be alarmed or excited to see him there. “Hiro, it’s almost ten – what…” He broke into soft, confused laughter. “What are you doing here?”

“Hey bro.” Hiro smiled faintly and held up the battered case of a Baymax. “Saved this for you. Thought you might want to have a good look at it. Definitely needs some repairs. Some audio got corrupted, uh, I think one of the camera lens got fractured – he’s definitelygonna need a new vinyl cover, or at least a good wash–“

“Hiro, Hiro.” His brother waved at him to stop talking. “What happened? What do you mean you savedhim?”

“Well, he got stolen.” Hiro stared up into his brother’s wildly perplexed gaze. He shrugged. “Some thugs roughed him up, so I got him back for you.”

“ _Thugs?”_

Tadashi was down in an instant, and then he was dragging Hiro upstairs and into a rather large and cluttered room that he’d made his unofficial home workshop. “Yeah, thugs,” Hiro murmured as Tadashi said “ow” and watched the robot take almost double the time it should’ve to inflate. And it didn’t even inflate to the fullest that it could.

“Wha-!” Tadashi gaped at the crude art on his robot’s belly and groaned wearily into his hands. It actually made Hiro chuckle a little. “Oh my God,” Tadashi bemoaned his gentle and pure nurse robot. “What _is_ it with punks with spray cans and wanting to draw dicks all over _Baymax?”_

Hiro gave a shrug, smiling lopsidedly. “He said, he failed to see how this would make him a better health care companion. Nice to see that the big guy can still keep his sense of humour in difficult times such as these.”

Tadashi glanced curiously at his younger brother, his eyes dropping down to Hiro’s legs. “Your jeans are dirty,” he commented, taking up some tools and kneeling beside the robot.

“I tripped,” Hiro answered without even really thinking about it. He rolled over a chair and sat beside Tadashi as he peeled away the vinyl skin, inspecting the robot’s carbon-fibre skeleton and actuators – testing out what still worked and what needed fixing. Hiro just watched him for a while, his head resting on the back of the chair, taking stock of how quiet and warm and peaceful the room was. He wished he could fall asleep there and never have to wake up.

“So,” Tadashi said suddenly. He was occasionally looking up from his tinkering, staring concernedly at Hiro. “You said some thugs did this? You saw this Baymax in the street?”

“Yeah.” Hiro rubbed at his head. It still hurt when he prodded the back of it, but there was definitely no blood. Just grime. “I was just passing through, and… I don’t know. Some assholes had him.”

“What were you doing out this late?”

“Oh…” Hiro looked off to the side and tried to think of something less implicating to say than _I was walking home from Morgan’s._ “I’d just seen a friend. I was going home.”

“You should’ve called a cab.”

“Yeah, probably.”

“It gets dangerous out there.”

“Yeah.”

Tadashi stood up then. He mumbled some diagnostic information that even Hiro didn’t much care to listen to right now, and he watched as Tadashi opened up the port on the robot’s chest. It seemed to go deathly still as the green chip was removed, and Tadashi slid it into his computer and opened up a whole lot of programs.

Hiro slapped his cold cheeks. He still didn’t feel… all there, yet.

Tadashi noticed. “Are you OK?”

“Yeah, fine. Um… I’ll be back,” he murmured, getting up and wandering out of the room. He didn’t know where a bathroom was, so he tried every door on the floor until he found a tiled room with a sink. He ran the tap until the water was warm and splashed some over his face, again and again, washing away some of the grime people were too polite to say he was covered with. He stared at himself in the mirror and he looked so… pale. So spooked.

When he went back to the workroom, Tadashi was seated in front of his computer, watching jerky footage from the Baymax’s cameras. The robot appeared to have come from a small clinic, Hiro didn’t know which one. Several mysterious hours were skipped over in a second, and then the robot was suddenly on the street of a dodgy neighbourhood at night, absorbing visuals of vandalised garages and rundown cars and the three men who’d stolen him. The Baymax had already scanned them, as he did with every new human he met, and it didn’t take a few seconds after he asked how he could help before the thugs laid into him.

Tadashi was still, with a hand over his mouth. Like it was hard to watch.

“Hey.” Hiro stood behind his brother to put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You can get those guys with this footage – just send it to the cops.” Tadashi didn’t respond, but Hiro felt him wince when the cameras showed Baymax smacking to the floor. Hiro squeezed his shoulder a little. “I told you the Baymax series would need some armour,” he mumbled.

“A nurse,” Tadashi got out, “shouldn’t need _armour._ ”

“These ones do.”

Tadashi sighed. They watched together in silence as the Baymax was led to the back alley like a lamb to the slaughter. From the way those thugs talked, they were clearly intent on destroying the robot – just as something to do to fill in their time, just as a laugh, just to see what kinds of wires and circuitry were inside of him.

Hiro wasn’t thinking ahead; he didn’t remember to tell his brother that he could stop watching the footage now, until it was too late, and they were already watching it. He heard his own outraged voice come from off-screen and his throat closed up. The Baymax had moved its head towards the source of the noise and it was pretty obviously Hiro’s short, angry silhouette coming closer.

“Bro, I gotta go now,” Hiro said, clapping Tadashi one last time on the shoulder. “I’ll see you later.”

Hiro turned, but Tadashi’s hand shot out and grabbed him roughly by the arm, holding him there. Tadashi wasn’t letting him go anywhere.

Hiro stared at the back of his brother’s head for a stunned moment before turning his attention back to the screen, and he watched on helplessly. The Baymax observed everything that had happened since Hiro had shown up to intervene. Hiro making a fool of himself, picking on three threatening men twice his size, yelling at them to leave the robot alone because it was property damage and the robot belonged to his brother and he was going to call the police soon if they didn’t stop...

Not only were the robot’s cameras good, but the microphone was in excellent condition too. The Baymax could even pick up the sound of the can Hiro had thrown at the thugs hitting the ground.

“Dash.” Hiro tried to pull his arm away until it hurt. “Bro, I have to go. I’ve got work in the morning.”

The Baymax picked up everything, every small sound. Even though the thugs were a short distance away, even though Hiro’s face could barely be seen over the shoulder of the guy between him and the cameras, Tadashi needed only to increase the volume on his computer to hear every word. He heard every awful, sneering thing they said to his poor younger brother. He saw that they’d hurt him and had been preparing to hurt him some more.

The rest of it was no less relieving to watch. The strained interaction with the cops, Hiro wiping a sleeve over his face right in front of the camera, and then the footage cutting off after Hiro had practically sobbed “I am satisfied with my care”.

Hiro was holding his breath, waiting. He braced himself for it, whatever it was. His brother’s inevitable outburst, he supposed. He couldn’t see his brother’s expression, but the grip on his arm now was _tight._

Tadashi spun around to face him, and Hiro flinched pre-emptively. “What the _hell did you do that for?”_ his brother shouted, anger mixed with fear. Tadashi leaned forward to grab Hiro by the shoulders and actually shake some sense into him. “What the hell were you _doing_ just walking up to those guys like that? You’re _so_ smart – why did you do something so _stupid?”_

Something broke in Hiro then – he’d lost his calm, which hadn’t even really been a calm at all, and he started reeling like he was still fresh from the terrifying scene. He trembled and yelled right back at his brother, “I was getting that Baymax back for you! I was trying to defend your property!”

“ _Hiro_ ,” Tadashi cried, and he looked so _in pain_ all of a sudden. “Hiro, even if I had just _one_ Baymax… I would still prefer losing that than _losing you._ ”

Hiro wrestled his shoulders free and turned away from his brother, pressing a hand over his eyes and contorting his mouth with the effort of keeping his tears in. His throat _strained_ against his will. _Don’t cry,_ he told himself, over and over again, _Don’t cry, not now, not here, don’t cry._ What made it even harder was that he _knew_ what his brother meant to add onto the end of that sentence. _Don’t make me lose another member of my family. Please._

Through sheer will alone, Hiro swallowed it all back like a large, bitter pill. Something he would deal with later. He faced his brother again, glaring indignant, wiping little tears from his eyes. “You weren’t going to lose me,” he croaked.

“ _They could’ve killed you._ ”

“At worst, they could’ve put me in the hospital,” Hiro said, aggressively dismissive, like it was nothing to get so worked up about. Tadashi just gaped at him. “And then _another_ Baymax could’ve fixed me right up… Look, I get it – I’m _lucky._ I’m _fine,_ everything turned out OK, so just… forget about it _._ I’m going home now.”

Hiro turned to leave, full well knowing before he even took the first step that his brother wasn’t going to just let him go. He never did. Hiro was caught and pulled back to face Tadashi and stare at that insufferable _look_ on his face. That Doting Big Brother look that just never seemed to go away, no matter how old they grew together.

“Are people giving you shit for this campaign,” Tadashi demanded to know. “This sexual violence campaign you’re heading?”

Tadashi hadn’t even so much as congratulated Hiro on his bravery yet, and already he was jumping straight to this.

“I’m not heading _anything,_ ” Hiro denied. “Yeah, there are some real _assholes_ out there _but that_ _doesn’t matter._ ” He shouted it out like he was trying to convince more than just Tadashi. “I’m doing a _lot_ of good work, trust me. If only you could _see me_ –”

Tadashi cut him off.

“Hiro, listen to me. I don’t want you getting _hurt_ because of this. You’ve been through enough as it is. Maybe,” he suggested, and his voice was now low and soft and honeyed, “You should just quit this thing now, while you’re ahead.”

“ _No._ ” Hiro shook his head, a fierce look in his eye. “ _No._ You don’t… You don’t _see_ all the good that I’m doing, Tadashi! I’m really useful! I-I’m really helping people – just like me! Seriously – I am loving this and I am _fine,_ Tadashi!” Hiro opened out his arms and showed off just how _fine_ he was. “I’m not getting hurt by this, I’m not getting triggered every second I spend talking to these victims. My own victimisation happened a _long time ago._ ”

“Not long enough that you’d just leave all this stuff behind.”

Hiro wondered why his brother didn’t just shoot him through the heart. It would’ve killed him quicker and been no more painful.

“All this _stuff?”_

“Hiro…”

Tadashi raised a hand to hold his younger brother’s cheek, but Hiro slapped it away. He forgot to hold back on his swelling fury and he gave his older brother several more hard slaps until Tadashi was as close to cowering as he could be. “You don’t want me helping _anyone,_ ” Hiro cried, his throat and eyes stinging. He’d thought he’d left this all behind. He thought he wouldn’t have to do this with his brother again, and it hurt. “You don’t _want_ me helping with your robots, and you don’t want me helping people to get support and recover from their trauma. I’m just trying to be _nice,_ and you’re holding me back. _You always do this,_ ” he shouted, throwing his hands down. “You _always_ try to micromanage me, even though I’m an _adult now_. You’re _just_ like you’re stupid fucking robots – no wonder everyone wants to destroy them.”

_“Hiro.”_

As Hiro swept past the offline robot, he thought about doing something he hadn’t done since they were still petulant kids, no matter _how_ mad he got with his brother. He put a hand on the robot’s face and gave it an enormous shove, pushing it to the ground.

It didn’t make him feel any better. That defenceless, harmless robot crashed straight to the floor, and it somehow made him feel even worse than he already did.

He raced down the stairs, ignoring his brother’s desperate pleas for him to come back. He brushed past Tadashi’s bewildered partner, warbling out something he hoped sounded like “thanks for the drink, Mei”, and then he was out the door.

He ran down the quiet street until he was out of breath, which didn’t take him very long. He caught himself on a tree and held it with one hand, rested his pounding head against its cooling trunk. His other hand clutched at the raw, grating feeling deep in his throat and his chest.

 _You’re fine,_ he promised himself, struggling to breathe, _you’re fine, you’re fine, you’re fine._ He was just angry – he was just _really angry._ At those thugs, at his brother, at that Baymax, at all of the hate mail he’d ever received – just everything. He was so angry that he was shaking. So angry that he started to whimper.

Because even when he was angry, he was still miserable and scared.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :O !!! (something vaguely resembling a cliff-hanger?? oh my god!)
> 
> (So apparently I had been writing this fic for 20+ k words, not even realizing that I hadn't yet added it to the Silenced series... .-. I'm so sorry - I am just not as onto it as I like to think I am.)
> 
> Thank you for the lovely comments! (I know I say this each and every time, but comments never fail to make me happy. Even comments that point out my flaws and mistakes, because they help me to better myself as a writer. Each and every one is a treasure <3 *wipes tear*)

Hiro had completely forgotten that there was another seminar the following morning. He was at work, being quiet and distractible over a desk strewn with schematics, when he got a text from Lucy asking if he wanted to get some brunch before they set up. He briefly considered just not going to the seminar, but _of course_ he had to go. He made some excuse to his higher-ups about where he was taking his early extended lunch break, and then he left.

The seminars got a little easier each time Hiro did another one. He still couldn’t quite relax into his role yet, not like everyone else, but he no longer thought he was going to be sick every time the speaker just before him went up. Today was his fifth seminar. It was the last one – no, the second to last one. Plans for future related events were already set in motion, or so Hiro had been told. The organisers involved him and talked to him about it like his presence was guaranteed, his support ongoing.

When he took the front of the lecture hall this time, he felt as unnerved as he had way back in the second – even the first seminar. He felt uncertain. The overwhelming majority of people were backing him, were vouching for his pain, but… He could see them now. The others. Those boys who soundlessly sniggered to each other, those girls who pursed their lips and scowled. They stuck out like great big flashing signs for Hiro to just shut up and sit back down and stop taking up so much time and space.

He deviated from his practiced speech a little. He slipped in a few harsh words about his brother, about feeling like even those who supported you were still against you, still not convinced, still not completely on your side. He could see his fellow volunteers’ surprise in his peripheral vision, and especially Lucy’s. He wished as soon as the words had left his mouth that he just… _hadn’t_. All it had done was make him feel petty, and made him mess up the rest of his speech, which was already running over time.

He sat back down again and people patted him, too afraid to tell him what he already knew: that it wasn’t his best. They were more sympathetic than they were encouraging.

But that didn’t matter, he told himself. It was done, it was over, it was good enough. His favourite part of the seminar was after it had finished, anyway. All of the satisfied and disinterested students shuffled out of their seats to leave, while a couple or more came forward to speak with him one-to-one. They asked to hear a bit more about his own experiences, or they asked what they should do about their friend who was in a similar situation, or they asked how they could help people like him. Not very many boys approached him; they tended to contact him by email, late at night.

But today one boy did.

As soon as Hiro’s eye was caught, he smiled the boy over. The kid was at least half-Japanese, standing tall and lean and not very broad-shouldered in a loose-fitting school uniform. He had a stilted feel about him, but that wasn’t unusual; sometimes the kids were even more afraid of talking to Hiro than Hiro was to talk to them.

“Hey,” Hiro said, setting down his drink. He walked himself and the boy a little away from a group of chatty teachers and seminar organisers – just to give them a little more privacy because that boy sure as hell looked like he needed it. Hiro put on his most trusting, most attentive face. “How can I help?”

The boy didn’t speak. He just… stared. Like he had no idea what to say.

Hiro noticed the boy’s Adam’s apple bob as he gulped. “It’s OK,” he assured, gentle but casual. He tried to play up just how casual he was – without coming off as totally flippant, of course – hoping that that would put the boy at ease. “I’m not like a teacher, or a proper health educator professional or anything. Did you have a question, or…?” He asked tentatively, “Something else?”

This interaction, or complete lack thereof, was just getting… awkward. But Hiro didn’t want to just walk away from his kid. He had this gritty look in his eyes, like there was something he wanted to say, but, for whatever reason, he just couldn’t. He just couldn’t quite get there.

“…Hey, y’know, you can always email me,” Hiro offered. He pointed up at the projection screen, just out of habit, when he remembered that the slideshow had already ended. He slowly reached into his backpack for a pen and paper, eyes never leaving the boy’s. “Do you need me to write it down?”

“No…”

 _Finally_ the boy managed to find his voice. A small one. He was so quiet that Hiro strained to hear him over the noise everyone else was making.

A little smile curled at the boy’s lips. “I remember… we emailed a lot.”

Hiro didn’t quite understand him. “You’ve… emailed me before?” he asked, puzzled. “I’m sorry, I get a _lot_ of email – what did you say your name was?”

The boy’s eyes grew wide and strangely doleful. “You don’t recognise me?”

“Uh…” Hiro didn’t. He felt flustered. “Should I?”

“Aren’t you Hiro Hamada?”

Hiro tensed. It made him uncomfortable that this kid knew his family name. He’d been _so_ _cautious_ about not releasing it during those seminars – had he just slipped up today?

“Y-Yeah? Who are you…?"

“It’s me,” the boy insisted quietly, and Hiro was forced to take a good hard look at him. Hiro didn’t _know_ any high school students; from the front of the room, they all just blended together in a sea of dark hair and monochromatic uniforms. He couldn’t tell one face from its neighbour.

And then the realisation hit Hiro like a brick to the face, and he wondered how he _ever_ couldn’t’ve recognised him.

“Takahiro… Takahiro Tanaka.” He pulled a hesitant expression before quietly supplying the name he had once fervently asserted that everyone call him. “ _Taka-chan…_?”

Hiro could see traces of that eight year old boy in the high school student before him now – in the eyes, in the cheeks, in the mouth. But the energy was all wrong. Hiro remembered Takahiro as this bouncing, excitable, uncontrollable little tyke; the teenager he was faced with now was subdued and just a little bit brooding. He was nine years older, physically, but he was acting a hell of a lot older than that.

 _“Takahiro?”_ Hiro gaped at him, feeling his eyes stretch as wide as they could. He must’ve looked terrifying in his shock, but he didn’t care. “You’re… You’re seriously Taka-chan?”

“Please don’t call me that,” Takahiro murmured. One hand rubbed his other arm, seemingly for no other reason than to make himself appear uncomfortable. “It’s too cutesy for me now.”

“R-Right… Sorry.”

Hiro couldn’t believe it. He just couldn’t believe that he was really now staring at the grown-up child who had almost become his cousin just under a _decade_ ago. Itoko-san.

“F… Fancy seeing you here,” Hiro cried, laughing too hard in an attempt to diffuse the suddenly tense atmosphere. Whose discomfort levels had just been hiked up to impossible, _dangerous_ heights. “Wow! You’re a lot… taller than I remember! It’s been so long!”

“Yeah, it’s been a while.” Takahiro smiled, and he seemed almost completely unfazed by everything. “Can we talk?” He gave a sidelong glance to some people who passed behind him then. “Somewhere other than here?” he added.

Hiro dropped a helpless look onto the time on his phone. “Taka-ch… Takahiro, listen, I-I-I would _love_ to… to, um, have a talk with you, but I just… The thing is, I’ve gotta get back to work,” he said. His voice was straining with apologetic regret. “I’ve only got a few hours off, and, I-I’m sure your teachers are up there waiting for you…”

Takahiro’s shoulders slumped with disappointment, but he still gave a polite little nod. Hiro found himself screaming in his head, _There is no way that you’re really Takahiro._ The Takahiro he knew would _never_ have taken his answer as absolute, not without a small fight and a series of whines. “I understand,” Takahiro agreed, and it just didn’t _sit right_ with Hiro. That boy must’ve done a lot of growing up since Hiro had last seen him.

“But _please_ , email me,” Hiro said, failing to keep the desperation out of his voice. “Do you need my email? I-I can…” He got out the pen and paper only to have Takahiro decline the offer – again, _so_ _polite._

“I’ll email you,” Takahiro promised, and he flashed Hiro a small smile that just touched his eyes. “It’ll be just like old times, right?”

He gave a coy wave and then he took off, running up the stairs to follow the last of the students dawdling out of the lecture theatre. Hiro needed Lucy to find him and physically _move him_ before he could leave his seat.

_Just like old times…_

\-------

The rest of the day had been _hell_ for Hiro. He went back to work, but he didn’t get anything done – he just scrunched up botched schematic drawings, and stared off into walls, and went back and forth between his desk and the bathroom, to repeatedly splash his face with cold water.

He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t just put it all aside and lose himself in his work and wait to dwell on it all later. All he could think about was Takahiro, and everything about that time. All the memories that boy was associated with… Everything just came crashing back – not just one brick this time, but a _ton_ of them, on his head and on his chest. Crushing him. Leaving him gasping into the stream of water, hunched over the sink in his work’s bathroom, like he was going to be _sick._ Public and vulnerable.

Someone eventually came by to pat him on the back and tell him to go home. He didn’t bother to argue; he just gave a shaky nod, wiped at his mouth, and walked out. He barely remembered to go back and collect his things before leaving the building.

He got home again, tossing his bag carelessly onto his bed as he claimed his desk chair, grasping it like he _really_ needed the support. His computer couldn’t come out of hibernation fast enough, and when it did, he immediately went to check his inbox. There were _countless_ emails there – they built up a lot during the day, and especially right after seminars. He didn’t know how to tell at a glance which one was Takahiro. None of them were titled so starkly: _It’s me – the boy from your nightmares._

He read through all the emails quickly, only to find that Takahiro hadn’t sent him one yet. He checked the time. School hadn’t even been let out yet. It could’ve been _hours_ before Takahiro got an email to him.

 _I need a distraction,_ Hiro thought. So he played his latest game. He’d already sunk a substantial amount of his free time into it already, but he was still nowhere close to actually _beating_ it. He’d barely just left tutorial-mode. He played it for hours, killing and looting everything in sight, keeping his agitated hands busy and his mind focused on something placating, non-demanding. He played it until he suddenly found himself sitting in a dark room.

He got up to close his curtains and turn on a light, grabbing some snacks that his unsettled stomach didn’t want, but probably needed. He dared to check his email again. Still nothing. He answered a few easy queries and forced himself to attend to emails that seemed to require an immediate response.

He was staring at his inbox when it popped up. A new email. The title was just a simple _Hey._ All the email itself said was _It’s me._ Hiro didn’t need to ask who it was. That email address…

It was the exact same email address Hiro had given to Takahiro, all those years ago.

 _I’m here,_ Hiro wrote back immediately. He kept swallowing, over and over, feeling like something uncomfortably big was lodged in his throat and he just couldn’t get it unstuck. He paused for longer than he had wanted to; he couldn’t think of what to say. He supposed he should’ve started with something a little natural. A little normal. _How are you?_

Takahiro wrote back, seconds later, his message appearing in the email’s chatbox. It was an infinitely better program to communicate on.

_TAKA: I’m good. How are you?_

_HIRO: I’m OK. Sorry I didn’t recognise you. I see a lot of high school students now and you all tend to look the same ha ha…_

_Stupid,_ Hiro thought as soon as he’d hit enter, smacking at his head. That was the one drawback to instant messaging, he supposed. There was less time to construct the perfect response, and more opportunities to say something he hadn’t really meant to say.

_TAKA: Lol no worries. Your seminar was really interesting btw._

_HIRO: Thanks…_

_TAKA: Were you talking about Cass?_

Hiro’s heart stopped. He didn’t know how to respond to that. He didn’t even know if he wanted to. He was conversing with what seemed now like a very mature teenager, but Hiro couldn’t stop thinking about the little boy who talked about ‘witches’ and ‘eating’, like it was all a cute fairy-tale. They couldn’t pretend it was a fairy-tale anymore. They couldn’t escape behind euphemisms.

His answer was taking too long. Long enough for Takahiro to write: _Sorry I asked._

_HIRO: No, it’s OK – Yeah, I was talking about her. (I don’t like to use her name though.)_

_TAKA: Why not? If you did, people might go to her café and set it on fire._

Hiro stiffened. He was thinking back to when Takahiro had thrown hot tea at her. _Burn witch,_ he had cried, and she had _screamed._

_TAKA: She did live in a café, right? I’m not remembering that wrong?_

_HIRO: Yeah, the Lucky Cat Café._

_HIRO: How much do you remember?_

Hiro was so, so curious. And yet a part of him _really_ didn’t want to know. He waited, nerves tingling with apprehension, waiting for Takahiro’s response.

_TAKA: I don’t remember that much. I think I was like… 7 or 8? 9? I dunno. I don’t think I stayed with her for that long. I remember a room with a lot of toys, and downstairs always smelled like coffee and baking. There was a cat maybe?_

Hiro didn’t know why, but the thought of Takahiro remembering anything more than that filled Hiro with a slow, building sense of… dread. He wished that that was the extent of Takahiro’s memory. But it wasn’t.

_TAKA: Actually, that’s kind why I wanted to talk to you._

_HIRO: You can talk to me._

_TAKA: OK cool…_

_TAKA: Well, it’s about what you said about Cass – about your aunt. You said she molested and raped you a lot, when you were younger. And it got me thinking… I stayed with her alone in her house for a week or two. I think maybe… some weird stuff might’ve happened._

Hiro didn’t respond. He stared at the words on his screen, reading them over and over again. Waiting to comprehend them. Waiting for them to make any goddamn sense. He was so calm and poised on the outside, but…

Something in him erupted from the beaten back depths of his mind. Something feral and resentful and regressive that screamed, _I FUCKING KNEW IT!_

_TAKA: Hiro?_

_TAKA: Are you there?_

_TAKA: Hello?_

_HIRO: I’m here._

_HIRO: Tell me what she did to you. I’ll listen._

_TAKA: I don’t really remember anything specific but… I think she was always very close to me. She gave me a lot of cakes to make me like her, even though they were too rich and they made me sick. Sometimes she got into bed with me and it would get so hot that she’d tell me to take my pants off… At the time I didn’t really question anything, but… given her history with you, isn’t it kind of creepy? Why did my dad ever let me stay with her alone?_

Hiro didn’t know what to do. He was _feeling so much_ right now – he had no outlet short of throwing himself repeatedly at the stone wall in his living room. He couldn’t _think_ beyond his streaming line of consciousness that he just couldn’t seem to stem: _I was right, I was right about her, I was right about Takahiro, I was right about everything, why did no one believe me, of course she hadn’t changed, she never changed, she’s the same as always, she made another victim, just like me, she’s out there now making more and more and more and more and–_

_TAKA: You’re really quiet all of a sudden._

_TAKA: I guess it’s kind of late..._

_TAKA: I should go._

_TAKA: Bye._

Before Hiro could even get his _shit_ together, Takahiro had already signed off. Hiro wrote to him frantically, desperately trying to pull back someone who was no longer there.

He didn’t waste any time. He grabbed his coat and keys and then he was out the door.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Hiro :( Commenters are absolutely right btw - it's all sort of downhill from here on in. (Sorry). It was good while it lasted, right? Aha...
> 
> Thanks for the lovely comments <3

Hiro couldn’t wait for someone to answer the door. He walked straight into his brother’s house as soon as he worked out that the front door was still unlocked.

“Tadashi,” he called out, not seeing him in any of the main areas. He couldn’t even see Mei. He ran up the stairs and threw open the door to his brother’s workroom, where Tadashi was hunched over a computer screen cluttered with broken code.

Hiro stood over him, panting heavily. “… _Tadashi,_ ” he yelled, and Tadashi cried out, jumping so hard that something knocked under his desk and he immediately hissed with pain. Hiro grabbed the back of Tadashi’s chair and spun him around to face him. He ripped the earbuds out from his older brother’s ears and threw them aside. “Tadashi, we have to talk, right now – I don’t care if you’re busy.”

“Hiro?” Tadashi squinted up at him as he gritted his teeth and slowly rubbed at one of his knees. “Hiro, what… I _am_ busy – what are you _doing_ here?”

“ _I saw Takahiro._ ”

Tadashi’s eyes widened. The hand on his knee fell away, limp. “What?” he breathed.

“ _Takahiro._ I _saw_ him, I _talked_ to him – H-He approached me after a seminar I did today, just, out of _nowhere_ , and he, he,“ – Hiro kept tripping up over his speech; he couldn’t get everything out fast enough – “I-I told him to email me, and he did, and it– he said, he said that _things_ had happened to him, when he was still staying with her – in her house, I mean, in the–“

“ _Hiro._ ”

It took his older brother’s hands on his face for Hiro to just _stop_ and take a breath. Tadashi’s eyes flicked between both of his, still wide and alarmed. “Hiro, slow down, you’re not making any sense.”

Tadashi pushed another chair towards him and Hiro dropped into it, his legs bouncing fast and anxious. “I _saw him,_ Tadashi, for the first time in like _nine years,_ I _saw him_.”

Hiro looked to his brother expectantly, waiting for him to react, waiting for him to do _something,_ but all he did was stare. “So,” Tadashi murmured, “you’re not here about… yesterday, then?”

Hiro frowned at him. The distraction made him impatient. _“What?”_

“Our fight.” Tadashi looked just as confused as Hiro now did. “We fought yesterday, remember? You came here to drop off a busted Baymax…? And then you stormed out again, hating me?”

“…You’re not _listening to me,_ ” Hiro cried, and Tadashi groaned into his hands. “I don’t _care_ about that – I’m trying to tell you about seeing Taka–“

“Yeah I heard you, Hiro,” Tadashi snapped. He brought out his face again, glaring with frustration. “It seems just a bit strange to me that you would come over here and not even want to make up for yesterday, before you launch straight into all of this.”

“ _Fine,_ ” Hiro shouted, prompting Tadashi to growl at him to keep his voice down. Hiro writhed in his chair, just itching to move on and _tell him._ “I’m sorry we argued, OK? It was stupid and you were upset, and I was upset – _whatever._ Tadashi.” Hiro grabbed his brother’s wrist and demanded his full, undivided attention. He didn’t give any warning – no indication whatsoever that Tadashi should’ve prepared himself for what he was about to hear. Hiro just blurted it out.

“Cass abused Takahiro.”

Tadashi grew tense under Hiro’s grip. He didn’t say anything for a few moments, until he finally ripped his wrist free. “What do you mean,” he asked warily.

“He told me. He IM’d me, and he said that _things_ might’ve happened, back when he was still staying at her place. _Weird things._ ”

Tadashi was silent for a few more moments. Then he dropped his face back into hands, and he didn’t resurface so easily this time. “Christ, Hiro,” he muttered. “Not this shit again…”

The words scared Hiro. He lashed out; he raised one foot to give his brother’s chair a good shove. “What the _fuck_ does that mean,” he demanded.

“Hiro, don’t _do this again,_ ” Tadashi yelled, pleading. “Don’t _do_ this to yourself – you’ve already been through this- this obsessive stage before, and it almost _ruined_ you!”

“But I was _right_ before, Tadashi,” Hiro yelled back. The adrenaline was just _coursing_ ; he couldn’t keep still. “I was _so right_ and no one _believed me._ You don’t believe me now, but wait until you talk to Takahiro. He’ll tell you _everything_ and then you’ll realise just how fucking _wrong_ you were.”

Tadashi didn’t respond with words, but the cussing grunt he gave instead said all that it needed to and more. He wasn’t indulging him, he wasn’t listening. He didn’t believe him.

And Hiro started to panic.

“Don’t you _dare_ start this shit with me again, Tadashi. You fucking _owe me._ You already doubted me once and look where that ended – I got hurt _again._ If you had only believed me – if only you hadn’t forced me away, then maybe that never would’ve happened. Maybe you could’ve kept me _safe._ ”

It wasn’t fair. Some miniscule, still reasonable part of Hiro knew that it just wasn’t fair to pin the entire blame on Tadashi like that. Tadashi’s lack of faith in him had been just one flake of the snowball – just another falling domino in a negative chain of events.

Hiro knew it was wrong, and yet he took nothing back. He stared his brother down, his mouth struggling to keep itself in a straight line, as Tadashi slowly looked up. He could see in his older brother’s face that the guilt was just _eating_ at him.

It was working. He was coming around.

“Hiro,” Tadashi said, and his voice sounded as full with tears as his eyes, “You know I never meant for anything bad to happen to you, you _know_ that…”

Hiro felt a little… calmer, looking at his brother now. He sat with his back so straight and his posture so upright, while Tadashi was hunched forward, leaning over his knees, barely able to lift his gaze. Looking down at his older brother like this, it sent confused little thrills through Hiro. He felt like a bully – no longer a helpless victim.

And he kinda liked it.

“I know,” Hiro replied. “And, if you really are the good brother that you _so_ love to think you are, then you’ll give me a chance. Give Takahiroa chance. Think about it! We could actually get her imprisoned! Wouldn’t that be fantastic? Wouldn’t that just make my case look _so much better?_ So much more convincing? So inspiring? _”_

Tadashi didn’t say anything. He just wiped the back of his hand across his face.

“If I could actually manage to get her _convicted_ for my rape, and for Takahiro’s too – well, that’s just more evidence to stack against her, right? She couldn’t just smile and look pretty and hold up her _disgusting_ cakes for everyone to take then, could she? Teenage boys are a ‘grey area’ but what kind of jury isn’t going to think molesting an _eight year old boy_ is sick?”

“Hiro…”

Hiro jumped up from his chair and started pacing around the room. His legs still ached from running, from being held in a perpetual state of high tension, but it was so easy to push past it. All of these thoughts, all this equipment surrounding him – they were giving him _so_ many ideas, and he wondered if what he was feeling now was _excitement._

“Your Baymax series still isn’t accessible to rape victims, right? You ignored all of the suggestions I sent you, right? Whatever – what if I could invent something that would help kids everywhere? People are prone to disbelieving kids, right, but no one can ignore photographic evidence – no, visual _footage_ – _yes._ ” He leaned over his very still, very quiet brother and borrowed a sheet of paper and a pen. He cleared some space on a desk and began to roughly sketch out the designs flashing through his head. “It’ll be something innocuous, something only a kid would have – kinda like in all those movies, right? Like a hidden camera in a teddy-bear, to watch the babysitters when the parents are away. Only you can’t trust the parents, either. You can’t trust anyone.”

Hiro felt a gentle hand on his back. He flinched, and then he ignored it. He felt good, like he was making up for his lost productivity that day. He was working so _fast._

His drawing was messy, but he could tell what everything was, what it was doing, and that was all that mattered. “And maybe – _oh,_ maybe there’s some sort of pre-arranged code word that triggers the camera to turn on? And then that would become a live feed – it would go to the police, and they could _see_ if a kid was being abused or not, and then they could bust straight into the kid’s house and catch that monster in the act! And there would be no fucking trouble going through court because their abuse _is on camera –_ I-It’s incontestable!”

“Hiro.”

“ _Every_ kid should have one of these, in their bedroom. To protect them from scumbags who’ll try to take advantage of them. Oh, but – what if the kids are too young to know what’s happening is wrong, what if they’re gagged or– well, maybe the cameras should be on all the time, then–“

“ _Hiro._ ”

Hiro glanced up from his scrawling, irked. “What?” he snapped. “Can’t you see I’m _busy?”_

“Hiro, you…” Tadashi was standing behind him, his hands heavy on Hiro’s shoulders. He was trying so hard to sound _nice._ “You have a lot of… _interesting_ ideas, Hiro, but… maybe you should sleep on it, OK? You should calm down, get some rest–“

“No way.” Hiro scribbled down some notes regarding his designs, and even _he_ had a little trouble reading them. “I’m on a roll, bro – I’m gonna help _so many_ kids _._ ”

“Hiro, have you forgotten everything you’ve ever learned about _ethics? Nothing_ about this is ethical _._ ”

Hiro scoffed. He muttered under his breath, “Wow, you really think you can talk with _your_ robots? How they just go around scanning people, collecting and storing data without consent? How they take away people’s autonomy? You’ve got Baymaxes in clinics telling old folks when to eat, sleep, and _die.”_  

Maybe that was a little harsh, Hiro thought distantly. It took a while for Tadashi to speak again. “Your design is invasive. It’s a violation of privacy, and it’s _incredibly illegal._ You’d be generating mass amounts of… _pornography._ ”

“Don’t _think_ about it like that,” Hiro cried, disgusted. “ _No one_ is going to watch it and hoard it for anything like that – we’re gonna use it to catch predators and then _get rid of it._ ”

“You can’t assume everyone will do that, Hiro. There’s a lot of potential for things to go wrong – you can’t be sure people won’t abuse the system.”

Hiro shouted it out like Tadashi was missing the bleeding obvious. “ _The good will outweigh the harm._ ”

“Hiro, you…” There was a sound like a whimper from his older brother. “Look, you’re not _thinking_ straight. Just…”

A hand descended onto Hiro’s work, snatching the pen out of his hand before he even knew how to react.

“Hey, wha-!”

And then the drawing he’d been working on was gone too.

Hiro growled and sat back, feeling _deeply_ agitated. Disrespected. The nails on his suddenly free hands ground into the arms of his chair, scratching, curling like talons.

Warms arms wrapped around his shoulders then, loving but restraining. His brother’s cheek nuzzled the side of his head. “Sleep here tonight, Hiro,” Tadashi begged softly. “Please – you can have the spare room. I’ll make you a good traditional breakfast in the morning. We can play games, watch films – we can do anything you like. _Please,_ Hiro _._ I’m so _worried_ about you, all the time, I’m _never_ gonna…” He took a huge, shuddering breath. “Please just stay here.”

Hiro considered it. “I’ll stay the night,” he compromised, “if tomorrow you see Takahiro with me.”

Tadashi sighed miserably. His head fell into the crook of Hiro’s neck, almost in defeat.

“ _Talk_ to him,” Hiro continued, his voice stern. “Once he tells us everything, we’ll go to the police. All of us. We’ll turn her in and get her convicted. If we don’t, then she’s just going to keep hurting more and more boys.”

Tadashi was silent for the longest time that night. He breathed shakily against Hiro’s shirt, and Hiro wondered if he might’ve still been fighting back tears.

Eventually, Tadashi moved his head in a way that felt like a nod. “OK,” he whispered. “We’ll… talk to him.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Mmhm.”

Hiro felt… so much calmer now. With his calm, a wave of fatigue washed over him that made the warm air of the room feel like a warm blanket. His eyes slipped closed and he felt _relieved._

“I’ll…” Tadashi rubbed his younger brother’s head as he began to draw himself up and away. “Just… I’ll get you some clean sheets.”

Tadashi walked out of the workroom, leaving his younger brother to just sit there alone for some time. Hiro raised a hand to the shoulder where Tadashi’s face had just been and felt the fabric between his fingers.

It felt damp.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *casually ignores horrific implications of this chapter*
> 
> So.
> 
> What does everyone else think of these 'Tadashi possibly not dead and possibly to star as new villain/hero in the possible Big Hero 6 sequel' rumours?
> 
> (help, how do I even start to tag this story now)

From the way Tadashi fussed over Hiro, it was clear that he thought his younger brother needing looking after. Hiro didn’t like it, because it made him feel so _young_ again, so weak and dependent and _pathetic._ But it was just easier to let Tadashi do whatever he felt he needed to do, to make himself feel better again. Reminding Tadashi so cruelly that he hadn’t always been the perfect big brother… It was still resonating with him. The guilt trip hadn’t just _worked_ ; it was _still going_. Tadashi was doing everything from making Hiro’s bed, to making him breakfast, to loaning him some of his own nice clothes, even though he was probably well aware that he would never see them again.

Hiro curled up on a soft couch in the living area, fresh from a shower and with nothing else to do. At least not yet. He’d emailed Takahiro the night before, asking to meet with him tomorrow – a Saturday. He hadn’t received Takahiro’s reply until early that morning, but it was an affirmative one. Hiro had said great and picked a time and location for them to meet.

Now all he had to do was wait.

Hiro glanced up at his brother from his phone. He couldn’t quite tell if Tadashi was just itching to get back to his important work, or if he was nervous about something else. Tadashi hadn’t really left him alone ever since he’d gotten up; he hung around like a fly, always pacing from wall to wall aimlessly. It was starting to get annoying. But he wouldn’t leave because he felt obligated to be there.

“Just go do your own thing for a while,” Hiro told him dismissively. “I’ll let you know when we’re leaving. I’ll give you a… twenty-minute warning.”

Hiro smirked. Tadashi didn’t.

\-------

Hiro hadn’t told Takahiro ahead of time that he wasn’t coming alone. But the look that overcame Takahiro’s face the second he saw Tadashi made Hiro think that maybe he should’ve at least mentioned it.

He had to be the one to bridge the gap between them on the street. As soon as Takahiro had laid eyes on them, he’d just stopped in his tracks. Hiro tried smiling. “Hey. Glad you made it. Did you have school this morning? I hear some more traditional schools do the half-day thing on Saturdays, and I wasn’t sure…”

Why was he talking. Takahiro wasn’t listening to him; he was just staring wide-eyed at Tadashi.

“You remember my brother, right?” Hiro asked, stepping aside so that they could come together. “Tadashi Hamada?”

Tadashi stepped forward, and Hiro was surprised to see that he was actually _smiling._ For all that Tadashi had been reluctant to go along with his brother’s plans – he was constantly holding them up on the way there, always trying to distract Hiro, trying to convince him to change his mind and do something else – he still looked so happy to see Takahiro again. He didn’t just give Takahiro a hello and a stiff handshake; he swept the boy up into a hug and told him how _big_ he’d grown. He’d gone from familiar-looking stranger to old friend, just like that.

They walked into a small café nearby. As Tadashi paid for everyone’s lunch, Tadashi asked Takahiro all of the questions it hadn’t even occurred to Hiro to ask: how was his dad, how was school, how old was he now, what was he thinking of doing next year… Things that only Tadashi would’ve thought to ask.

Hiro didn’t have very much to contribute to their conversation. He sat there at their little corner table, eating and drinking, barely listening, as Takahiro and his own brother chatted, like… like they couldn’t even remember the circumstances in which they’d last seen each other. Takahiro laughed like he couldn’t remember being dragged kicking and screaming out of Tadashi’s house by the abusive woman who had almost become his stepmother, and Tadashi told jokes like he couldn’t remember watching it all happen. It was strange.

After about twenty minutes, Hiro was starting to get sick of it. His brother _still_ talked as energetically as he had when he first greeted Takahiro, like he could carry a conversation until the café closed. Until the day ended. Until the _world_ ended. Hiro had already had a sandwich, a coffee, and a milkshake, and the other two had barely finished their first round yet.

He got agitated. He kept trying to find pauses in the conversation, just _one single place_ he could cut in and ask what he had come to ask. But, every time he seemed to find an opportune break, Tadashi would always start a new story or come out with a new question.

Hiro glowered at him. He couldn’t help but wonder if maybe his brother was doing it deliberately –keeping Takahiro’s attention long enough for Hiro to just give up on the interrogation and go home, like Tadashi had wanted from the very start, and just the mere possibility riled Hiro in a way that made him want to destroy the furniture.

 _Fuck it._ He wasn’t waiting anymore. He wasn’t going to put up with it. He wasn’t going to politely wait for an opening; he cut in halfway through his brother’s stupid salmon story _no_ one wanted to hear to say, “Takahiro, tell him.”

The table fell silent. Tadashi closed his mouth with a resigned sigh and went to sip at his cold coffee, his eyes down. Traces of Takahiro’s familiar vitality had come back to him as he talked, but they were all gone now. His wide smile fell away, his bright eyes faded back to dull and reticent. “What?”

Hiro shot him a pleading look. “Tell Tadashi what you told me yesterday. About her.”

Takahiro seemed to get it, from the way his eyes opened a little. Hiro _knew_ that that boy understood what he meant.

So then why was Takahiro playing dumb?

“I still don’t…” Takahiro shook his head, looking between the two brothers. “What?”

“What you said, yesterday,” Hiro stressed, leaning over the table towards him. He noticed Takahiro lean away. “You told me that she – _Cass_ – had abused you. Didn’t you?”

“Hiro, lower your voice,” Tadashi murmured, petrified.

“ _Tell_ him, Takahiro. It’s OK.”

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

Hiro stared at him. He didn’t understand. Why was this happening? Why was this kid trying to make him seem crazyin front of his older brother, who _already_ thought that he was crazy enough as it was? From the way Takahiro started to shrink in his chair – it was like he thought the look from Hiro was withering.

He felt his brother put a hand on his shoulder. It wasn’t a soothing or comforting gesture; it was supposed to communicate something like ‘cut it out’.

“Taka-kun,” Tadashi said gently, his smile faltering as he leaned towards him. Hiro was actually surprised to see that his brother was attempting to help him. He supposed Tadashi didn’t want his younger brother to be crazy any more than Hiro did. “It’s OK, Taka-kun. If there’s… anything you want to tell us, you can. We’ll listen. If… If it’s true what Hiro says,” He turned a stiff look in his brother’s direction, “and… something did _happen,_ when you were staying with our Aunt Cass, then… well, you shouldn’t have to keep it to yourself. You won’t get into trouble. Nothing will happen unless you want it to. But… you should tell someone.”

Hiro felt a little thrill of satisfaction go through him. That _must’ve_ worked, he thought. If there was one thing Tadashi was good at, it was reassurance. It was calmly drawing the truth out of people, and Hiro was positive that that had been enough to end Takahiro’s sudden attack of cold feet.

He turned back to the boy, settling a severe, expectant gaze on him. _Tell him,_ he pleaded with his eyes, _Please just tell him, c’mon, tell Tadashi what a horrible awful lady she was, tell him everything, this is it, c’mon, tell him…_

“Um…” Takahiro gulped. He looked right into their eyes and shrugged. “Nothing happened.”

_…Nothing happened?_

A sound like a sharp intake of breath came from Hiro. _Liar,_ his mind accused.

“Takahiro, _don’t_ be afraid,” Hiro asserted, placing a hand over one of Takahiro’s on the table. It tried to move away, but Hiro forced it to hold still. Their fingers squeaked against the polished surface. “Tell us, Takahiro. Tell us everything that happened.”

“Nothing happened,” Takahiro denied. He looked so angry in his face but he was trembling against the table. “I told you _nothing happened._ ”

“But you _told me something did._ ”

“ _Hiro._ ” Tadashi grabbed Hiro’s arm and yanked it away from the table, allowing Takahiro to take his hand back. “What’s gotten into you,” Tadashi exclaimed. He was glaring at Hiro, but Hiro wasn’t paying him any attention; he was fixing Takahiro with a stare that was now _definitely_ withering. The chair legs grated against the floor as Takahiro threatened to leave. “He said nothing happened,” Tadashi mumbled firmly. “Just _calm down,_ OK, because you’re making a scene.”

Hiro turned his cold eyes onto some of the surrounding tables. They weren’t trying very hard not to stare, those chatty tables full of family and friends who were now drinking their coffees and eating their pastries in absolute silence. _Nosy,_ Hiro thought.

No longer pinned beneath Hiro’s glower, Takahiro hastily got to his feet and threw his duffel bag over his shoulder. “Um, thanks for the coffee, Tadashi,” he murmured, and then he was out the door.

 _Oh no,_ Hiro thought, holding back a sneer. No, he wanted to have a _talk_ with Takahiro. He abandoned his brother, despite the stern warnings to stay put, and he raced after the kid into the street, turning every which way for him. But the kid was fast – or perhaps he was very good at hiding amongst the lazy weekend crowd. He was nowhere in sight.

Tadashi nearly slammed into him like a football player; Hiro just managed to catch his balance before he could crash to the pavement. “ _Ow,_ ” he whined, and then wished that he’d saved his _ow_ for when his brother wrapped an arm around him and hauled him off into a narrow alley. When he was put back down again, the back of his head hit a wall. It was still bruised and tender from the other night, when the thugs had roughed him up, and his cry of pain sounded a hell of a lot more aggressive than he’d intended it to.

He recovered and tried to run out, back onto the street, but a hand knocked him back. “No,” Tadashi said sternly. “You’re _not_ following him.”

“I have to talk to him!”

“ _No,_ Hiro.” Hiro was pushed back into the wall yet again. He refused to keep still; he gave his brother no choice but to hold him there. “ _We_ have to talk. What the _fuck_ is _wrong_ with you?Why won’t you listen? Why can’t you just leave this poor boy alone?”

“Look, I know this looks bad,” Hiro said, prompting a mirthless laugh from Tadashi, because – yeah, it _did_ look bad. “I _know_ I look fucking _insane_ right now but, Tadashi, I’m _not._ He’s just shy! He just doesn’t want to tell you because, I don’t know – at times you were just as big a bitch as she was.”

Tadashi gave his brother a look then that Hiro was _sure_ meant he was going to end up with a bloody, broken nose. But Tadashi had never once raised a hand to his younger brother, and it was clear he wasn’t going to now.

Much to Hiro’s surprise, Tadashi backed off and let go of him.

“You need help again, Hiro,” Tadashi said, no longer shouting, and he ran a hand over his face like he was _exhausted._ “This… This isn’t working. You’re not OK. You should go back to your therapist, tell him everything that’s… I _knew,_ I just… You’re _not fine,_ Hiro.” Tadashi started shaking his head, like he didn’t want it to be true. “You _say_ you are, but you’re _not, you’re…_ Please, just _stay away_ from Takahiro. Don’t ruin his life. Don’t turn him into you. Whether nothing happened, or he wants to forget – just _let him._ ”

“I’ll send it to you,” Hiro insisted, as if that would make everything better, and he watched his brother crumble. He saw it happen, but he wasn’t taking any of it in. “I’ll send you the conversation we had last night. I’ll show you what he told me.”

“Don’t,” Tadashi groaned. “I don’t want… I…” He sighed. From beneath his fingers, Tadashi made a face like he was just breaking. “I… I can’t deal with this right now, Hiro, I just…” He took his hand away to glimpse his brother once – just _once_ , and that was all it took. That was all he needed to just turn around and walk away. “I’m going home. I’ve got work to do… I’ll… I’ll call you later.”

Hiro watched the second person that day just walk away from him, and he tried not to feel it, deep in his heart. He didn’t know which person he hated more. Takahiro or Tadashi. It was hard to remember how much of a _cute_ kid Takahiro had once been. It was hard to remember that Tadashi loved him, really.

“Cowards,” Hiro muttered angrily and started his way home.

\-------

When Hiro got back, he immediately sat down at his computer. He brought up the chatbox he’d left open from the night before. Takahiro wasn’t back online, if his status could be trusted, but that didn’t stop Hiro from putting his thoughts down exactly as they came to him.

_HIRO: What the hell, kid?_

_HIRO: What the actual hell?_

_HIRO: Do you just enjoy dicking me around or?_

_HIRO: Were you scared?_

_HIRO: Why didn’t you tell Tadashi what you told me?_

_HIRO: Huh?_

_HIRO: Why?_

_HIRO: Why?_

_HIRO: Why?_

_HIRO: Why?_

_TAKA: Leave me alone._

Hiro paused. Takahiro was offline, but he still replied. He could still read every word. He was just _hiding._ It made Hiro a little happy, and it made him a little more furious with him.

_HIRO: Just tell me why you said nothing happened._

_HIRO: Scroll up and you’ll fucking SEE what you told me yesterday._

_TAKA: I shouldn’t have said anything._

_HIRO: No c’mon, don’t be like that…_

_HIRO: Don’t you remember what I said to you? Years and years ago?_

_HIRO: I said that you could tell me anything and I’d believe you._

_TAKA: You said a lot of things…_

Hiro had absolutely no idea what that meant. But it worried him.

He wondered if Takahiro had signed off, officially. But the boy wrote again moments later without prompting.

_TAKA: You really want to know why I didn’t say anything?_

_HIRO: YES!!!_

_TAKA: Fine._

There was a long wait between Takahiro’s last message and his next one. Hiro stared at the little writing-pencil icon as Takahiro typed out his message. He was tapping his fingers, bouncing his leg. He was literally hanging on the edge of his seat, waiting.

When the next message popped up, Hiro held his breath.

_TAKA: When I saw you had your brother with you, I panicked. I only kind of remembered Tadashi but as soon as I saw his face a lot of memories came back. And not very nice ones. I remember being really scared and upset… There’s was a lot of yelling and crying, whenever you and he were around. And especially when you were around Cass…_

_TAKA: I got this particular memory stuck in my head. But I don’t remember it well…_

_HIRO: What is it?_

_TAKA: It was morning… Someone got me out of bed and then there was just SCREAMING. All three of you were there. Cass told me that something horrible had happened… That… someone had done something… unforgivable…_

Hiro couldn’t feel his body.

_TAKA: I hadn’t slept well, I don’t think. I had this bad dream where a monster tried to squeeze the life out of me. Like a hug that had turned into a chokehold. I still kind of have it sometimes… It’s like a weird recurring nightmare. Just this gross, sobbing beast who tried to smother me…_

He was going to be sick.

_TAKA: And I remember I didn’t have any pants on that morning either…_

_TAKA: Haha did I ever sleep with pants on?_

_TAKA: Weird._

_TAKA: …_

_TAKA: Hiro?_

_HIRO: brb_

Hiro backed away from his desk, shaking uncontrollably. He had to get away from his computer. If he couldn’t make it to the bathroom, then he had to try to make it to the sink – he threw himself across the room and lunged for it, just in time to throw up all of that nice food from the café. Bile _burned_ in his throat, the sounds of his retching and the stench just made him feel even more nauseous. He was vaguely aware that he still had plates in the bottom of his sink, but he couldn’t – he didn’t fucking care.

He wanted it to stop. He didn’t want it to be real. He wanted to wake up to find that this was all just a _sick,_ horrific nightmare. His head was _screaming,_ his body felt so weak and _vile._ He _knew_ what Takahiro’s memory was, and the fact that his mind drew a blank where he needed to focus it most just filled Hiro with so much _dread_ that he felt like his legs were going to give out at any second. He clutched at his kitchen counter, trying to find something to latch onto as he started to fall, but there was nothing. There was nothing to hold him up, nothing to support him, nothing to keep him from falling…

He had hoped that as he collapsed to the floor, he’d somehow be jolted awake. Back to reality. But he opened his eyes and nothing had changed. He was still… a pathetic, miserable excuse of a human being, lying like a piece of trash on a kitchen floor that hadn’t been cleaned in weeks.

From his bedroom, he could hear his computer give a little ding as another message appeared in the chatbox. And another and another. Hiro just continued to lay on the floor, trying to keep himself together, trying to think of a way out, and he _sobbed._

The question kept running through his mind, over and over again, each and every time paired with an unutterable answer.

_What am I?_

_(A monster)_


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends <3 I... don't really have anything to say here, but hello hello :) Um, heads up for a whole lotta angst?? I guess?
> 
> Your comments are much appreciated!

Most of the nausea had subsided by now. But a little of it still remained. It sloshed around when he walked, deep in the pit of his stomach, spiking up his torso and up the back of his throat whenever he thought about why it was he felt that way. Hiro wondered if that was just going to be a permanent fixture of his self now. Much like his abuse had left him feeling like he didn’t have any control over his puppet-strung body, he wondered if it was just another unpleasant feeling he was going to carry around with him for the rest of his life. Chaining him, burdening him.

He didn’t look at the numerous messages waiting for him in the chatbox. He saw that Takahiro had changed his status back to available now, but that was all Hiro dared to glimpse before he turned off his computer. He couldn’t face that kid right now. He didn’t want to spend any more of his afternoon sobbing and retching over a sink than he already had.

He went to lie down. Because he couldn’t think of anything else to do. What even was he supposed to do in this kind of situation? He had no clue. He hadn’t watched any films about it, he hadn’t read those sorts of books. He didn’t know what one did exactly, upon coming to the realisation that they might’ve in their troubled past done something… What had been the word Takahiro had used?

It sent cold shivers all throughout his body. He crawled under the covers, still fully clothed, and leaned his head into the pillow, but he couldn’t relax. He couldn’t get comfortable. He was still achingly tense; he was still stiff as a board. His body felt like a piece of lead piping.

He had to think. He had to remember, before Takahiro did. What had happened that night?He laid in bed for hours with his eyes screwed shut as he forced himself to go over every painful detail of his life at that time. He tried to remember the fights, the deceit, the lies, the two-facedness, the isolation, the depression, the anxiety, the fear, the tears – just all of it. It was so important that he _remembered._

It wasn’t like unlocking an old, forgotten door and having a ton of _junk_ fall out on top of him, as he’d once likened delving into the depths of his memories to. No, it was like… jumping into a misty body of water, not at all knowing just how deep it went. The deeper he sunk, the darker it became, the slower he got. The more the memories built up, the more the pressure crushed him, and each memory took him further and further away from the possibility of ever coming back up for air again.

Drowning, that’s what it was. He was drowning. That’s what it felt like.

Things were awful back then, nine years ago. That wasn’t too hard to remember. Every day was a brighter, warmer hell. Each day he woke up at a different hour. At some point he’d stopped taking care of himself. He was staying in a room he could no longer afford, surrounded by food wrappers, dirty clothes, and broken computer parts. On his bedside table was his phone, filled with so many _missed calls_ that it had made him want to sink into the earth like the corpse he was. Everything had been falling apart, and especially him.

There was a party. It had been the first and last flat party he’d ever been to. It was crowded, noisy, and that strong alcoholic stench just permeated the house and everything in it. He’d been drinking. He’d been drinking a lot more than he should’ve been.

And there was a girl. _Amanda…_

He gasped into his pillow, squeezed his eyes shut. No, he couldn’t think about it. He couldn’t think about her. He skipped over the scene in his mind – he didn’t want to watch it happen in such crisp, graphic detail. He didn’t want to feel it and get despairingly lost in it. Distancing himself from that particular memory was the only way he could get past it, to where he needed his mind to be.

He was upset. Understandably. He’d just been raped, his favourite flatmate had smiled like the sex was supposed to cheer him up, and he’d just been hung up on by a rape support helpline. He’d gone to Tadashi’s place, hoping that Takahiro was still there…

He whimpered. He remembered standing over Takahiro in the dark as he slept in Hiro’s old bed. He remembered grabbing him, holding a hand over his mouth as he begged the young boy not to say a word. He remembered he started to cry, and he lay down beside Takahiro, and put an arm over him, and…

His eyes flew open, distraught. _Nothing._ There was nothing else. He had no further memories of that night. He thought he’d just passed out, from exhaustion, from betrayal, from being stuck at breaking point for so long, running on empty – but he didn’t know. He hadn’t known at the time, and he didn’t _fucking_ know now.

Maybe it was good news. Maybe it meant that nothing _had_ happened. Maybe Hiro had just crushed the boy by accident as he passed out on top of him. That was completely plausible. That was within the bounds of his acceptable reality; he could handle that.

But the truth was that he just didn’t know. He couldn’t say for sure. And, for as long as Hiro was left without an answer, he felt like… he could never really be happy with the person that he was.

He wondered if maybe it was a psychology thing. Maybe he just couldn’t remember because he didn’t _want_ to remember. Maybe his mind was protecting him.

Because he didn’t want to be a bad person.

Because he didn’t want to be someone else’s Aunt Cass.

\-------

When he next spoke to Takahiro through the chatbox, the following morning, he was unyieldingly strained. He was scared. No, he was _terrified._ He was deathly afraid. He had laid awake all night, just stuck in a state of perpetual stress, and the only difference between him now and seven hours ago was that he wasn’t lying down anymore. He was sitting at his desk, soothing words with no heart behind them right at his fingertips, as Takahiro admitted to worrying last night when Hiro hadn’t come back.

Hiro didn’t laugh as Takahiro joked that he was so old that he didn’t know what ‘brb’ meant. Hiro typed ‘lol’ but he didn’t laugh. How could he? He was waiting for it all to click; he was dreading the second Takahiro would say the words that Hiro feared most in the entire world right now.

_Wait… I remember now. That’s right – YOU touched me, didn’t you? That sobbing, suffocating beast from my dreams was YOU. You hurt me like she had hurt you._

_You’re as bad as she is._

_You’re worse than her because you already knew how much it hurts._

_But you just didn’t care._

_You just wanted to make yourself feel a little bit better, and you didn’t care._

Hiro sharply slapped himself out of it. He couldn’t keep doing this. He wasn’t going to last much longer if these recurring thoughts kept assailing him, beating him down, _blaming_ him… He didn’t know whether or not he’d done it, yet his mind had so effortlessly compiled all of the _reasons_ for why he might’ve done it. What kind of a _sick_ brain even did that.

It was all that he could do. To keep himself sane. He wouldn’t talk about the past, for fear of jogging Takahiro’s memory, or even his own, but he just let Takahiro talk at him for a long while. He let him talk about anything and everything that he wanted to. He didn’t stop him, he didn’t tune him out. And after a few hours it became clear to Hiro that he could start to relax a little because Takahiro’s memory seemed to be suffering from the same unknowable murkiness as his own memory. Besides, Takahiro hadn’t given any horrifyingly explicit details yet. Nothing characteristic of a textbook abuse case.

He had added one horrifying little detail to the night in question though. Something that had made everything less dreamlike and more harrowingly real.

_TAKA: The smell…_

_TAKA: There was a really bad smell. Like dad’s scotch. Only sweeter, I guess. I don’t really know._

_TAKA: Just… alcohol, you know?_

_TAKA: Did Cass used to drink a lot?_

A part of Hiro just wanted to come out and end this and say it. _I’m so sorry, Taka-kun. I had never meant to hurt you. You were such a good kid. I know I could say it a million times and it’ll never be enough, but I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…_ But he refrained. A part of him was holding his twitching fingers back. Saying sorry was essentially an admittance of guilt. That he was at fault. That he was accountable for _something._

Eventually it got dark outside. The painful pangs of hunger got harder and harder to ignore. Takahiro wished him a goodnight and signed off, and Hiro continued to sit there for a while, wondering how he was ever going to sleep again.

He wanted to sleep and never wake up.

\-------

Over the next few days, Hiro had been convinced that his life was coming away at the seams once again. Like it always seemed to do. His shit just didn’t want to stay together.

He couldn’t come to terms with it. That was, the possibility that something _could’ve_ happened between him and Takahiro, years and years ago. That night, when the accumulation of weeks of unmoving, unending hell had just _peaked…_ It was impossible. He couldn’t keep comfortably living the life that he did now whilst possessing the knowledge that the possibility existed, that _something_ could’ve happened. For fuck’s sake – he was supposed to be _helping_ kids like him, like Takahiro, but he couldn’t even look at his inbox anymore. Those emails, they just… killed him inside. All of those boys who looked to him for clarification, for guidance, for support, for _help…_

It was just too much. He couldn’t delete them, so he could only ignore them for now. Until he could work something out. Until he could work out what to do. Until he could handle the situation better than he was currently handling it.

He was losing weight again. He couldn’t eat; his stomach _reeled_ whenever he thought about it, and yet he couldn’t seem to distract himself from it for long enough, no matter what he did. Work couldn’t distract him, his addictive game couldn’t distract him, bot fighting in his lab’s basement couldn’t distract him, and going to Lucy’s dive bar to get absolutely _smashed_ couldn’t distract him – at least not for very long, and he always felt even more abhorrent afterwards. Even his own boyfriend couldn’t distract him.

It had quickly become a problem. Even as Morgan kissed him or touched him or fucked him, his mind just couldn’t _stop_ for twenty or so minutes and lose itself to the sensations, no matter how _good_ they were. He went from a moaning, gyrating _mess_ to completely stock-still in a matter of seconds. He didn’t want to picture that boy’s face – whether it was fat-cheeked and grinning, or lean and imperturbable – when he was doing anything like that _._ It wasn’t at all like the feeling of being robbed of his control, or used; it was just a different nauseating unpleasantness altogether that Hiro couldn’t bear to go through again.

He couldn’t think of anything else to do. The second time it happened, he told Morgan that they were through. An undeniably huge part of their sustained relationship had been that Hiro could feel comfortable having sex with him, and if he couldn’t do that without thinking about Takahiro, then he didn’t want to do it anymore. It wasn’t fair, and it especially wasn’t fair to Morgan.

Hiro was regretful. Really, he was. But he must not have seemed very regretful. From the way Morgan had slammed the door on his way out.

At least he was still answering his phone. For now anyway. He still picked up the inevitable call from his brother. Tadashi had sounded so wary at first – sort of aloof, like he was waiting for Hiro’s usual loud and feverish tirade. But… it never came. They talked as they normally did, and after about five minutes of ordinary conversation, Tadashi reacted positively, his mood picking up drastically. He slipped in a line about being happy that his brother made the right choice, and Hiro pretended not to hear it.

They talked for another twenty minutes before they ran out of things to say, and Tadashi told Hiro in his most tender, proud voice that he loved him.

“Love you too, bro,” Hiro murmured. He ended the call, bringing his fists up to his face, and he did his best not to start crying again.

He tried not to think about it. He tried not to think about how he’d never hear those words from his brother again, if he only he knew what had happened. Goddammit – what had _maybe_ happened.

He couldn’t think of anyone who’d be more betrayed than his own brother. Especially when Tadashi had asked him and had taken a chance and finally _believed_ him, when Hiro had promised that nothing had happened.

 _Amazing,_ he thought wryly, running a hand over his eyes. _I still have tears left._


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiro gets an interview..........
> 
> (Are we still feeling any sympathy for Hiro? I'm curious...)

Lucy called him one afternoon, while he was still at work. He picked up, having no good reason not to, despite the tightness in his chest that it gave him. He said “hello” and that was all he ended up saying for at least ten minutes. He scrolled through some tacky click-bait news site while she told him all about the contents of the organisation’s meeting he’d missed the other night – what excuse had he given? Friend’s birthday dinner? She blathered on about all the events they had planned for the following month, and he slipped in a distracted ‘oh’ and ‘cool’ and ‘yep’ whenever she took a breath, just to make her believe he was listening.

He only really tuned into her when she mentioned that someone wanted to have an interview with him.

He started. “Wait, _what?”_

 _“An interview,”_ she repeated brightly, _“Just about you and your abuse, y’know? Nothing big. Just something to teach the kids about male rape and inspire the masses to, uh, actually do something about it.”_

The tension in Hiro’s chest was _sharp_. He didn’t know how he could pull it off, even if _did_ want to. He didn’t know how he was supposed to speak on behalf of male victims, when it was entirely possible that he could’ve once been an abuser himself.

“I-I can’t do it,” he stammered. He shook his head, turning to face a wall so his colleagues wouldn’t stare at him. “Please, you – Luce, I can’t do it.”

_“Aww c’mon, we already sort of… said you would.”_

“Why would you _say_ that?” Hiro cried out, struggling to keep his voice hushed. “Why would you think I would just _agree_ to something like that?”

_“Ummm because, are you really going to pass up an opportunity to tell the Internet that teenage boys don’t secretly want it?”_

He hated it when she said _the Internet._ Like it deserved a capital I. Like it was the equivalent of doing a live broadcast across the entire world.

“I don’t want to do it,” he said again. “Can’t someone– literally anyone else should do it. Andy? He’s great at talking about that kind of stuff.”

_“C’mon, people already know that men can rape other men, moron. People don’t know that women can rape guys.”_

“Why don’t we get a female who’s been raped by another female,” he suggested anxiously, and she chuckled a little. “People know even less about that than this.”

 _“Yeah, that’s a bit_ too _niche. C’mon man, you’ve done this_ loads _of times now. What’s wrong with just doing a quick, harmless little interview? No need to be shy. I reckon you’d look pretty cute on camera.”_

Hiro put his hand to his face and groaned despairingly, because that was _so_ not the issue here. “Luce,” he said, his tone dead serious. “I just don’t think I can right now. OK?”

She just wouldn’t let it go. _“But we need your voice! Look – I’ll go too, if you want. How about that? If they won’t let me in on the interview, I’ll just be right off-screen, holding up inspirational quotes for you. No one’s gonna fucking stop me!”_

“Luce,” he pleaded helplessly, feeling his eyes start to water. _God,_ he just wanted to tell her the truth. He wanted to tell her so badly that it physically hurt.

_“How much bribery do you need, huh? Is it… alcohol? I got a lot of that. Games? Nah, there’s probably not a game you don’t already down… You want cash? Because I tell ya, I’m running a bit low on my funds this month after my shower broke, so it’s gotta be something else… Hmmm… I make a mean lasagne?”_

“Luce.”

_“Yeah dude?”_

Hiro drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. He closed his eyes and grimaced before he’d even said the words aloud. “I’ll… do the interview.”

_“Oh you will?”_

“Yeah.” Hiro shook his head. He couldn’t believe what he was agreeing to. “Why not… I’m a voice. People should hear me, or whatever.”

 _“That’s the spirit,”_ she laughed and Hiro groaned. _“Ok, well, we got an interview! I’ll email you the dets soon – I gotta go right now, but I’ll call you later.”_

Hiro lowered the phone from his ear and let her end the call. He sat there for a while before he could go back to work, feeling like he was out of his depth once again.

But this time it was for entirely new reasons.

\-------

The interview came a lot sooner than Lucy had given him adequate time to prepare for. At least she was kind enough to accompany him. She dropped by his home one morning in her rundown car, and for a split-second he was violently hopeful that they would go up in flames before even making it to the interview. But he quickly put that kind of thinking out of his mind. He tried to enjoy the ride over with her, munching on cheap and greasy foods they bought from a gas station, and singing along to the music of their screwed-up childhoods as they drove an hour or so out of the city, to the studio where the interview was going to take place. Doing the interview via video call had been an option, but Lucy had persuaded him to do it in person. Somehow. He still didn’t really know how.

It wasn’t as if he’d changed his mind at all. She’d just worn him down. She’d convinced him that it would somehow all be fine, and no one would know anything about his dark secret that not even she knew about, and he was wearing a thicker hoodie today anyway, just in case he _would_ start sweating bullets. Just in case his body tried to give it away. He supposed he could always blame it on nerves.

They reached the studio around noon. Hiro shook hands with the channel hosts and directors, nodding as they introduced themselves, trying and failing as usual to grasp onto any names. He was offered a drink, and while Lucy chatted them up, he wandered around the set. It was brightly lit, compared to the rest of the studio, and there was no room for an audience. Only cameras. And only a couple of chairs behind those cameras. The set itself was done up like an edgy living room, with coloured couches and pillows, and posters on the ‘walls’, a glass coffee table spread with magazines and bottles and snacks. It looked very casual, and it was at least a little calming.

Someone came by with a script for him. Not to tell him what to say; it was just a messy list of questions he could have a read through, just to get an idea of the kinds of things he’d be asked, and he could start to loosely prepare some answers for them. He was assured again and again that they were going for a very _informal_ interview; they said it so much that Hiro had to wonder if Lucy had told everyone there that he was seconds from a panic attack.

He was also reminded that he had no audience here, not yet – just cameras. He was free – within reason – to mess up as many times as he needed to, and by the end of the hour they would cut and paste all of his best lines into a seamless twenty minutes that would make him look so smooth and off-the-cuff droll. He tried to look like he didn’t care, but it was hard to hide just how _assured_ he felt after that.

He was told they’d be starting now. Lucy gave him a pat and wished him luck before sending him onto the set, where he was told to get comfortable, and he nervously sat on one end of the couch, hoping that it was the _right_ end of the couch. God, the lights were so bright in his face; it was worse than in the lecture theatre where the seminars were held. The lights were hot too. Still, he flashed Lucy a shaking thumbs up after she did, and then a cameraman silently counted them down.

They all acted like they’d done this a million times before; they were that efficient and coordinated. The cameras rolled and immediately the fast-talking, enthusiastic host launched into what sounded like his usual snazzy greeting, and he started giving a bit of background information everyone already knew on sexual abuse. The guy was lively, as Hiro could see, but he was still somehow so dignified, still giving the topic the proper respect and delicacy that it needed.

He sat tautly while the host talked into the camera for a while, and then all of a sudden the guy was looking straight at Hiro, turning his body towards him, smiling, “welcome to our channel, Hiro.”

“Hello, uh…” _Fuck._ Hiro couldn’t remember the host’s name. He tried to breeze past his awkward pause with a forced smile. “Thanks for having me – great to be here.”

He swore he could feel Lucy laughing at him, from the shadows off-set. She almost certainly was.

“Great to have you here,” the host shot back, and his smile was so warm and interested and trusting and reverent that Hiro almost forgot that they were on camera. “So, as I understand it, you’re a part of rape support organisation that recently put together a series of seminars that… well, essentially, taught high school students about the realities of sexual abuse. Is that correct?”

“Yep.” He nodded, not quite sure if he was supposed to elaborate on that by himself or let the host prompt all of his answers. He nodded again. “Yep, we did that. It uh, went pretty well.”

“It certainly did,” the host agreed. “You’re actually a bit famous now, aren’t you?”

Hiro didn’t know about that. “Am I? Well… I get a lot of email now, so…”

The host threw his head back and laughed, and Hiro couldn’t help but laugh with him. He could feel himself starting to uncoil. “How much email do you get?”

“Umm. I don’t know, like… forty, fifty a day? On average?”

The host widened his eyes and nodded, a perfect show of fascination. “Right, right. Is it too much to ask what kinds of email do you get? Or would that breach confidentiality?”

“Oh – no, no,” Hiro assured, “I um… I mostly just get like, questions I guess. Not a lot of people know about the kind of stuff I talk about so… yeah. People come to me with questions and concerns, and I help them out, or else I send them in the right direction.”

“Well.” The host smiled and opened out a hand to him. “It’s great we got you on then. Maybe we could save you a good thirty emails each day from now on if we can get this kind of important information out there.”

“Ha, yeah I guess. Well. I mean, it’s all on our website and stuff, but yeah.”

The host gave a small, forgiving smile that made Hiro think his last comment was definitely going to be edited out. Yeah, he was well aware that he was choppy and awkward. He forced himself to relax more, or at least to look a little more casual as he waited for the questions to keep coming.

“In your seminars, you’ve been very outspoken about specifically _male_ sexual abuse… because you yourself were once a victim of sexual abuse, is that right?”

“Yep.” Hiro nodded, a little slower this time. “That’s right.”

“And, uh… while male sexual abuse victims aren’t necessarily _common_ , your case certainly differed in terms of… your abuser?”

Hiro had to wonder how comfortable the host was talking about this with him. Not many people were. He didn’t quite look so at ease in his face anymore, but then again the topic was just so… sobering.

“Yeah. When I was fourteen, I was abused by my aunt.”

“Your aunt,” the host echoed softly. “And you were living with her, at the time?”

“Yep. Well, I’d been living with her since I was three, since I’m an orphan.” He shrugged like it was nothing. “But it wasn’t until I’d finished school and I was spending a lot of my time at home that she, um…” He didn’t know how subtle he was supposed to be. He couldn’t think of what to say. He hastily ended his long pause with, “made her advances.”

“Right. Now…” The host raised his hands a little defensively and looked between Hiro and the camera. “Of course, we’re not going to ask you to go over any details of those _advances…_ But it’s been said that in your seminars you are surprisingly er, _candid_ about some of the things that, that occurred.”

“Yeah. Well.” Hiro raised his shoulders and dropped them. “I figure… maybe people wouldn’t really get it if it’s all so… vague? Like, just saying ‘I was sexually abused’ alone doesn’t have the same impact as saying…” Hiro couldn’t think. Cass had left him with so many horrible memories; he couldn’t hone in on just one for the sake of example. But there was something in the host’s eyes that made Hiro think maybe he didn’t want him to come up with something. “…Well, something explicit.”

“I understand. And it definitely makes it uh… a lot more real, at least for someone like me.” The host smiled with a little sympathy. “A lot of us must wonder if it gets emotionally exhausting, talking at length about something so… personal.”

“Umm…” Hiro had to stop and think about it a bit. “Not really? I mean, yeah, I get nervous talking about it sometimes, but that’s more because… well, not a lot of people really recognise or even acknowledge that guys can be abused, so…”

The host had a look on his face like he was glad Hiro had taken the conversation in that direction. “And, a lot of your advocacy surrounds the idea that certain ways of understanding sexual abuse, or the stereotypes associated with it, can be quite harmful. That’s a very important part of what you do, isn’t it?” Hiro gave a quick nod. “Could you break it down for me and our audience – what exactly _are_ the stereotypes, and why do they even exist?”

Hiro puffed out his cheeks and slowly deflated them. It was kind of a big question, but he was sure the host only wanted a small, succinct answer. “So basically… well, sexual abuse is a pretty taboo subject in itself, right? Never seen, never heard, never talked about. And whenever anyone hears anything about it, there’s always an assumption that it’s an older male abusing a female, or maybe even a young male. Traditionally, uh, because of… human anatomy…” He raised his hands uselessly and smiled through his sudden embarrassment. “Um… y’know, like… the general… shape and function of genitalia,” – God, his face felt so red, and he was sure he couldn’t just blame it on the lights – “Traditionally, people assume that sex is something that males do to females or submissive men, and it’s either consensual or it isn’t. But uh, that’s just not true.”

“Hmmm.” The host was nodding thoughtfully, his eyes a little squinted. “I see. So, maybe, people commonly think that male rape is impossible because…” Hiro was glad that the host too seemed to be suffering from the same embarrassment as he was. “If the male victim becomes aroused then… well, he’s clearly enjoying himself, and that’s not rape.”

“Yeah, right. But, I think, a lot of people fail to realise that... well, for one thing, there’s more than one way to be raped.” Hiro shivered a little, because he could actually remember having once said that to his brother. Incredibly. “Or abused… Not just um, penetrative… And also, bodies are just _weird_. If a guy – especially a teenager – gets a boner, that doesn’t always necessarily mean he’s aroused, it could mean…”

“He’s hungry.”

Hiro laughed, “Yeah _exactly_ , it’s just… It’s kind of crazy.”

“It is,” the host agreed. “So, about female abusers… What can you say about the stereotypes there?”

“Well… I guess, a lot of people don’t realise females can be sexual abusers or rapists. There’s an assumption that women, and especially traditionally feminine women, can’t do the same kinds of things, or act in the same ways that some men can? And… yeah, that’s pretty harmful. It can lead to a lot of, um… humiliation? Y’know, most guys are encouraged to be sexually active, aggressive, and there’s this expectation that they should easily be able to overpower a female. So... If a guy tries to tell his mates that he was abused by his girlfriend, say, then they might not take him seriously – they might think that he _actually_ wanted it to happen and he’s lying, or they’ll tell him he’s not a real man. It’s that kind of thinking that keeps victims from coming forward, and they can’t get the help that they might need. And it’s a problem.”

“It’s a big problem. Which is why you’re doing all of this, isn’t it?” The host stared at him so eager and so imploring and so sincere that Hiro stiffened. “You’re trying to speak up for all the male victims out there who are silenced every day, and tell them that’s it OK to ask for help.”

“…Yep.” Hiro’s voice croaked a little. “That’s… why I’m doing this. To help people…”

The host placed a gentle hand on Hiro’s shoulder. “You’re incredibly brave, Hiro. I admire you.”

“Thanks,” he murmured, suddenly petrified, and he didn’t care if it showed on camera anymore.

“I’m sure a lot of people admire you too,” the host admitted, turning smoothly back to the camera, “people will hear your story and hopefully they’ll amend their own biases. Hopefully a lot more males will be able to get the support that they need.”

“Yeah,” Hiro murmured, and he flashed the host a dizzy smile, feeling a bit like he was going to pass out. “Umm… Sorry, could…” He turned to face Lucy and the other people on standby, behind the cameras. “Could I… take a break?”

It was a silent for a moment. The cameramen shut off their equipment and someone called out, “take five, guys.”

“Sorry,” he said hazily to the host, who insisted that it was no problem, to take his time, there was no rush, he was doing great, and all those other things Hiro wished he wouldn’t say so earnestly. He got up from the couch and walked over to Lucy, reaching out for her, and she came quickly for him.

“You OK?” she asked, worried. She handed him her water bottle, pushing it towards his mouth for him to drink. “You got a little stiff just then, but you were doing just fine.”

“Yeah, I know,” Hiro replied. _That’s the problem._

“Just thirsty?”

Hiro didn’t answer her. He drained her bottle so hard and fast that he was gasping for breath by the time he was done. _I’m a hypocrite._ “Say something,” he murmured to her.

“What?”

“Tell me something,” he asked. “Talk to me. Distract me.”

“Look, listen.” She grabbed his face and looked into his eyes and Hiro didn’t want her to say all of the things he knew she was about to say – he really didn’t. He didn’t want the pep-talk; he needed to be talked _down._ “You are doing _great work._ You have _nothing_ to be nervous about. No one doubts you anymore. Everyone believes you. You are literally changing harmful attitudes and destroying those stupid stereotypes and it’s _amazing._ It’s _all_ because of you. So many boys have come forward and they’re getting help and they’re getting away from their abusers, and it’s _all because of you._ ”

He thought something was going to break inside of him then. But nothing did. He felt _guilt_ run through him, and run _deep,_ but it was no longer panicked – it was no longer unbearable.

It was actually a kind of guilt he could live with. And it was scary. But not terrifying.

“OK,” he finally said after she’d continued to hold and stare at him so intensely, so pleadingly. “I’ll… get back out there then, I guess.”

She smiled. She patted him twice on one of his pale cheeks. And for once he didn’t flinch. “Good boy,” she said, and then she was shooing him back onto the set, and he was reclaiming his seat back on the couch, next to his host, who was still smiling with an incredible amount of patience.

“Sorry about that,” Hiro tried to say, but his host wouldn’t hear of it.

“You’re doing great work, Hiro,” he said, giving him a bro-y slap on the arm. It was nice that the host was still so friendly and assuring, even when the cameras weren’t rolling. It was nice that it all wasn’t an act. “I’m glad you stayed – we’d be afraid to lose you now. I’m confident a lot of people are gonna be interested in what you have to say. I’m really sorry but,” the host started laughing, “you’re probably gonna have a _lot_ more email by the time this interview goes up.”

Hiro gave a shallow smile. That was just it. He _was_ the voice. He _was_ doing good work. He _was_ going to stick around to keep doing these interviews and make appearances and answer emails. He couldn’t back out now; he was going to help everyone. Absolutely _everyone._

His blood ran cold. _Everyone but one person_.

He tried to punch them back – all those niggling feelings of inadequacy, of despair, of despicability – he tried to beat them back into the depths of unconsciousness, or at the very least into submission. He willed himself not to dwell on the possibility of his own abusive behaviour. The very thing he was speaking out against. No. He couldn’t. He _had_ to protect his image at all costs. If he came forward now, if he said anything, if he admitted to _anything_ … If he wasn’t a perfect victim… He’d ruin everything. He wouldn’t just ruin his own credibility; he’d run the risk of ruining the credibility of _every other male victim out there._

It wasn’t so hard to justify to himself after that. It wasn’t so hard at all.

He picked up the interview right where they left off. Later, after it was all over, people would tell him that he had more of a presence in the second half than in the first. That he was calmer, more confident. More resolved. More stable.

Lying was wrong. But it was acceptable in some situations.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which the title starts to make sense as Hiro does a bad thing...
> 
> I have the proper ending to this story sorted out now. A HUGE thanks to my gf, who convinced me that my RIDICULOUSLY dramatic ending was WAY TOO dramatic. We all dodged a bullet there I think. But no - we're working towards a proper ending to the series, although that's still... at least 4 chapters away yet. 
> 
> I am so determined to finish this story now like, I have sunk so much time and mental effort and words into this strange premise, and I just feel like I can't abandon it now. I have to keep going. I have to finish what I started. (No matter how awful it might get .-. because third installments are the worst, let's be honest now. The firsts are good, the seconds are OK, and the thirds are just too long and too weird.)
> 
> Anyway, thank you so much for the comments! I appreciate your thoughts <3

That host had been right. About the email. The interview went up a few days later and Hiro’s popularity just _spiked_ , if that was even possible. He never once watched the video, nor did he visit the link to see just how many hits it had gotten, but he figured more than a few people must’ve seen it, from the way his inbox just _filled_. For every email he answered, about five more would just appear to replace them. It was getting hard to keep on top of, between his involvement with the organisation and his work and his social life and everything else. But it kept him busy.

It kept him from feeling like the unpalatable combination of anxiety and guilt that he was.

Takahiro was still talking to him, somehow. Hiro had flagged him so that every one of his emails stayed at the top of his inbox. He always read them first, whenever he got them, no matter how pointless they were. And one day it wasn’t just the usual update on his life, or song recommendation or funny video; it was a plea to meet him in town after school, at the library. He said he needed Hiro’s help with something, and Hiro’s stomach just _clenched._

He had to do it, Hiro knew. He had to keep an eye on this kid. At this point, Takahiro could’ve told him to jump and Hiro would’ve asked how high. As much as he didn’t want to, he had to see Takahiro.

He wandered into town once he couldn’t get anymore more work done, taking one of his laptops with him to mess around with, should Takahiro answer his prayers and never show up. But about twenty minutes after the time they’d agreed to meet, a duffel bag dropped to the floor and then Takahiro was taking a seat across from him.

Hiro cautiously peered at the boy over the lid of his laptop. His heart still stuttered unnaturally whenever he looked into Takahiro’s face. It hadn’t quite come out like his own, despite the fact that they had looked almost identical as kids. For one thing, Takahiro had better teeth than he did.

Every time Hiro saw him now he braced himself, like he was just waiting for the boy to walk right up to him and raise a hand and punch his crooked teeth out, or settle him with a glare that could chill him to the bone. But every time Hiro saw him, Takahiro looked… fine. Adjusted. Happy. And Hiro wished he could find solace in that, and could allow himself to relax and swell with the hope that _he was OK_ , but…

_It’s hard._

“Hey,” the boy whispered when Hiro didn’t greet him, smiling his gratitude. “Thanks for meeting me here.”

“…Don’t mention it,” Hiro murmured, eyes going back to his screen.

“I hope I didn’t pull you away from something important.”

“You didn’t.”

Takahiro seemed to believe him. The kid leaned down to rummage around in his half-zipped bag, coming back up with a wad of refill and some loose pens. Hiro couldn’t quite see what Takahiro was doing on the table, because his screen blocked his vision, but Hiro could tell from the muted scratching noises that Takahiro was trying out which of his pens still had ink.

“They still make you guys write by hand,” Hiro asked.

“Yep. Well, for essays and stuff.”

“Essays _…_ ” Hiro remembered essays. Not fondly, but he remembered them. That took him back. It was hard to believe sometimes that he’d finished up high school about thirteen years ago. It made him feel a hell of a lot older than he really was.

It made their age difference seem a hell of a lot bigger.

“ _So_ , uh…” Hiro scrambled for words. “You’re um writing an essay?” He gestured Takahiro’s supplies. “Is that the thing you need help with?”

“Ms Duncan wants us to write about the seminar we went to. About rape sensitivity.”

That surprised Hiro. “Yeah?” He bent the lid of his laptop down a little. The boy didn’t seem thrilled with the task. “But… didn’t you see that seminar over a fortnight ago? Why didn’t your teacher give you the essay sooner?”

“She gave it to us a while ago,” Takahiro admitted, eyes boring down onto the blank refill. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded bit of paper which he smoothed out over the table. It had scarce writing on it, laid out like instructions. “I’ve just… been busy.”

Hiro nodded, although he couldn’t help but wonder if the kid was just lazy. Most of his classmates back then had been lazy.

“So,” he said, after Takahiro had made no further movements, “what do you have to do exactly…?”

“We have to write about a thing we learned at the seminar. Something that stuck out for us.” Takahiro paused for a moment before shrugging, “I thought I could write about you.”

Panic jolted through him then. “What? Why,” Hiro demanded. He made an effort to look less terrified and more bewildered, but he– _Calm down._ “Why would you want to write about me?”

“I mean like, male victims with female abusers.”

“…Oh.” Hiro relaxed. He felt a bit embarrassed. Of _course_ that was what Takahiro had meant. What else would he have been talking about? _He was talking about that night you–_

_Don’t._

Water – he needed water. He took out his gross old bottle from his bag and had a long drink. He should’ve been keeping that water right next to him. He should’ve poured it all over his goddamn head.

He straightened up his screen, shifting his gaze back to it, where it should’ve been. “Yeah, you could… write about that,” he murmured. _What are you doing here,_ some part of him groaned exasperated but he forced himself to treat it as white noise. He didn’t hear it. “So, uh… how long does it have to be?” He cleared his throat. “Your… essay?”

“Like… 800 words.”

“Not long then,” Hiro nodded. “Wh… What’s it worth?”

“It’s one credit. It’s not really graded. It’s more like a pass or fail kind of thing.”

Hiro kept nodding and kept asking questions. He couldn’t think of anything else to say or do. “Did your whole class go to the seminar?”

“Most of us. Some didn’t.” Takahiro sighed and leaned back in his chair. “You had to get parental permission, you know… Since there was gonna be a lot of talk about sex and rape and all that stuff.”

“All that stuff,” Hiro repeated quietly. “When’s it due?” _All that stuff._

“Tomorrow morning.”

Hiro flashed Takahiro a disapproving look, and he felt so _old_ doing it, because he could remember his brother doing the exact same thing to him when _he_ left assignments to the last minute. No matter how mundane and pointless and _easy_ they were. “You should probably get writing it then.”

Takahiro groaned a little. Then he asked, in a small and beseeching voice, “Can you write it for me?”

Hiro felt shivers. He wished Takahiro wouldn’t do that. It made him uncomfortable. More than words could even begin to express.

“Please?”

 _OK, Stop._ “Look, Taka-kun,” Hiro sighed into his hands. “Why don’t you… Why don’t you write something out and I’ll look over it and tell you whether it’s crap or not. OK?”

“…OK.” Hiro glanced up to see him reach into his bag and pull out a music player. He slipped one earbud into his ear, scrolling through endless playlists, and then music was blasting quietly from it. Hiro had to resist the urge to tell him that he was going to ruin his ears. “I’m just gonna wing it,” Takahiro murmured.

Hiro sighed wearily. “Whatever gets it done.”

Takahiro started putting pen to paper, and Hiro began skimming emails, trying to answer as many as he could. But he was slow, he was stilted; he was finding it just a little bit hard to promote self-worth in the others when he couldn’t even see the worth in himself. And it was hard to concentrate. It wasn’t even fifteen minutes later and it had already become obvious to Hiro that the kid wasn’t lazy so much as he was distractible. He got distracted by his own music, by passing library-goers, by nearby bookshelves, by his own _hands._ It was… kind of ridiculous. Almost twenty minutes had passed and Hiro was sure that Takahiro hadn’t made a start on his essay beyond writing out his name and the date.

Now he was fooling around with his uniform tie. Hiro had to intervene.

“Taka-kun,” Hiro said, catching the boy’s attention and directing it quietly back to the paper. He could feel a pained sort of smile cross his face. “Just… Just write anything. It’s a pass or fail, right, so no one cares. Something’s better than nothing.”

Takahiro stared right back at him for a few seconds. There was a blank look in his eye, like he was having trouble remaining present. He blinked. “Sorry,” he apologised, slowly leaning down to rest his head on the table. “I was just… thinking…”

Hiro groaned inwardly. He didn’t want to ask. But he had to. “Thinking about what?”

Takahiro didn’t answer immediately. He kept Hiro nervous and waiting for a good minute or so before he pulled himself back up to stare at Hiro, and there was something like remorse shining in his eyes. “Hiro, I’m sorry I didn’t say anything before… when you meet up with me and brought your brother with you.”

Hiro felt something crawl through him, like a poison. _No._ “Th-That’s OK,” he tried to say, but Takahiro went on.

“I’ve always been a real quiet, like… avoidant person. I’ve never really spoken up when I should’ve, or… I-It wasn’t fair to you,” he insisted, burying his face in his hands, and Hiro had to lean closer just to hear him, because he _had_ to hear him, and he wished Takahiro wasn’t so quiet, not now of all times, “I should’ve said something when I had the chance… Maybe we should talk to your brother again. Then we could, like… I don’t know. Get your aunt in prison, where she belongs. For what she did to us.”

Hiro breathed. He slowly closed the lid on his laptop. He stared at the top of Takahiro’s head, where it was still hiding in his hands, almost like he was being bowed to. He tried to remain as calm as humanly possible. _Human. That’s a laugh._

It was for everyone else.

“Just forget about it,” Hiro murmured.

Takahiro was still for a few moments before he brought his hands away from his face. He looked… confused. “What?”

Hiro wanted to look away – to turn far, far away, but he forced himself to keep his eyes on Takahiro. He didn’t want to see him, not now, not while he was saying all of these horrible things, but he couldn’t look away. He had to stare hard into the boy’s gentle, bewildered gaze and _be convincing_.

“I… I was wrong. I don’t think… Cass ever did anything like that, to you…” He swallowed. “I think I got carried away before. I think maybe we… I let my personal experiences bias me, and it got in the way of my judgment. She never did anything bad to you. I’m sorry if I ever made you think that she did.”

His eyes were starting to water with the effort. He allowed them a moment’s respite as he they dropped to the space between him and Takahiro. The boy wasn’t moving. He wasn’t… reacting. Not in any way Hiro could discern.

If Hiro hadn’t felt like much of a monster before then he certainly did now.

“But…” Takahiro had a voice like he didn’t understand, and it made Hiro’s heart ache. “But I thought… So…” He had a voice like he didn’t know what to think anymore. “So what about… that dream that I told you about? Wasn’t _that_ a…? Didn’t someone…?”

Hiro tried not to think of it as lying. He hoped it would be easier that way. He could’ve been telling the truth after all.

And just not have known it.

“Sometimes,” Hiro murmured, and he was careful to be quiet now. Careful to keep his voice steady. “We can have these things called… f-false memories.”

“False memories?”

“Yeah.”

Takahiro took out his earbud. His music buzzed from it, the small sounds rolling off and ramping up in predictable rock melodies. But he didn’t turn it off.

“I…” He seemed lost for words. “But… Isn’t it possible that… I just can’t remember them? Maybe I repressed them – those memories. That’s a thing that happens, right? Or, maybe I was too young to understand, and… I just didn’t… I don’t know.” He stared hard at the table. One hand went to rub at his temple. “I-I didn’t encode it properly? Or something?”

“Taka,” Hiro whispered, reaching out to him a little. Takahiro’s hand was right there, so easy to hold, but he wouldn’t touch him. He fixed him with a sympathetic look. “Even if Cass _did…_ I mean, there’s no… It happened a long time ago. There’s no proof. So…” He took a deep breath, fighting back the shiver. “S-Sometimes these things just… aren’t worth it. Just forget about it.”

That was it. He was out. He couldn’t say anything more. He lowered his eyes back to the screen, staring at it, not seeing anything beyond the fuzzy blur of white. His eyes were on the screen but his focus was still on Takahiro, to see how he would react now, to see what he’d do next. But…

Takahiro didn’t do anything. He just sat there, stunned into a silence that unnerved Hiro to his very core. _What have I done?_

Takahiro’s hands shakily returned to his tie once more. He tightened it and loosened it and tightened it again and loosened it again. Like it was an enormous source of discomfort.

Hiro’s phone buzzed in his pocket, startling him. _Tremendously_ grateful for the distraction, he flashed Takahiro an excusatory half-smile and made a dash for the old disused stairwell, where he could afford himself some privacy. He didn’t even bother to check who it was; he just picked up and hoped that it was someone he could have a proper conversation with, while Takahiro had time to process everything.

He was gasping a little, but he didn’t care. “Hello?”

_“Hey, it’s me.”_

“Tadashi,” Hiro breathed. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d been so glad to hear from his brother.

He hadn’t run that far or even very fast to the stairwell, but his heart was pounding. He patted at his chest in a futile attempt to calm it down. “Hey bro,” he forced some enthusiasm into his shaky voice. “H-How’s it going?” _Distract me._

Tadashi told him how it was going. He talked about Mei, about the Baymax series, about his friends and colleagues, about the weather too, probably. But after a while, not even timely intermittent hums could hide the fact from his brother that Hiro wasn’t really paying any attention to him. It was so hard to pay attention to anything right now – anything besides the distant screaming in his head.

Tadashi said, out of the blue, _“I saw your interview,”_ and Hiro needed his brother to repeat that for him. _“I said, I saw your interview. The one on YouTube.”_

“Oh.” Hiro squirmed. His stomach churned. “You did?”

 _“I did. I actually follow that channel; it’s pretty popular._ ” Hiro wouldn’t have known. He still couldn’t even remember the host’s name, and it was just another reason to feel like a piece of shit. _“You never told me you had an interview.”_

“Well, no, uh…” Hiro didn’t know what to say. “It just sorta… sprung up on me, I guess.”

_“It got a lot of views.”_

“Wow.”

_“A lot of nice comments.”_

“Cool.”

_“Some… not-so-nice ones… But that’s the same with anything, though, isn’t it? Half of them are probably just trolls. You shouldn’t let them get to you.”_

The conversation lapsed. Hiro just couldn’t find the words to speak, but Tadashi must’ve read his brother’s silence as worry, because he started to say, real soft and consoling, _“Don’t worry about it, Hiro. You did a great job.”_

“Huh?”

_“…I said, you did you a great job. You seem really passionate about this. You seem to be helping a lot of people, and… It makes me proud.”_

Hiro put his back to the concrete wall and slowly slid down it. The floor was just as cold and dusty. He knew he should’ve been feeling happy, and he _did,_ but he still wanted to lash out and punch the wall and break his hand. Why was his brother only supportive _now?_ Just a few weeks ago, when he had needed it most, Tadashi told him to _stop_ being so involved, and _now_ …

Hiro didn’t say anything, prompting Tadashi to ask, _“Hiro? Did you hear me?”_

“Yeah, I heard you,” Hiro said.

_“You seem distracted. Is this a bad time? I can always call back–“_

“No, don’t,” Hiro pleaded. “Sorry – I’m just tired, but not that much. Keep talking to me.”

 _“Uh… OK.”_ Tadashi didn’t question it. It was what Hiro needed from him. _“You know, it actually… It kind of worries me when I realise just how uh… famous you seem to have gotten all of a sudden.”_

“I’m not famous,” Hiro denied. “Don’t say I’m famous. I’m not like you. I don’t get stopped in the street by fans or anything.”

The second the words had left his mouth, he knew it wasn’t true. Because he _had_ been stopped in the street once. Sort of. If a stinking back alley counted as a street. If violent, contemptuous thugs counted as fans.

 _“Well, OK but… It just worries me sometimes that maybe someone is going to make the connection between us, and… Because I am_ immensely, _embarrassingly proud of you, I tell everyone about my amazing little brother Hiro, the robotics engineer, and… That seems to be the way you present yourself, too…”_

“I use a fake name if people ask. I’m Hiro Takachiho. The only people who know are my closest friends and…”

_“Takahiro?”_

Hiro slid along the floor until his back was in a corner. That was where he belonged. “No one else though,” he assured. “But maybe you could… stop bragging about how amazing I am. I know it’s gonna be hard but…”

Tadashi chuckled. _“Oh, it’s not as hard as you think it is… Speaking of Takahiro, you’re not still seeing him, are you?”_

Tadashi had worded it like that would’ve been a _bad_ thing. _Probably because it is._

“Nope,” Hiro lied in a squeak, shaking his head no even though he had no need to. “Why?”

 _“No reason,”_ Tadashi said, quick and offhand. _“Just… wondering. Umm…”_ He sighed. _“Actually, can I ask you something?”_

 _As long as it’s not about Takahiro._ “Sure.”

_“Feel free not to answer if it’s too, uh, distressing, or anything like that, but uh… I was just curious… In the interview and the seminars, why don’t you talk about… uh… y’know…”_

Tadashi was nervous about something. He was clearly trying to lead Hiro somewhere, but Hiro couldn’t even begin to imagine where. He knew his brother was being careful, and he would’ve appreciated it on any other day, but just not today. “Just say it,” he mumbled. Tadashi was going to have to spit it out sometime, and either it would hurt or it wouldn’t.

_“Why don’t you talk about… the woman at the party? When you were eighteen. The one who…”_

_Raped me._ “Hurt me?”

_“Yes…”_

Hiro exhaled and rubbed the heel of his palm into his eyes. He knew the reasons why he didn’t talk about it; he’d gone over them enough times over the years, during every bad night he’d been forced to lay awake and think about the things he’d much rather just forget about. The things that almost ruined him.

 _“I’m sorry,”_ Tadashi said after a brief pause, before Hiro had a chance to answer, _“I shouldn’t have asked that – you don’t have to talk about it.”_

“No, it’s OK,” Hiro insisted. He found himself staring up at old, inoffensive fire extinguisher. “Umm… I guess I just… Well, in the seminars anyway, they already have survivors who… had their drinks spiked, and… They already have people covering alcohol and parties and staying safe and all that, so… yeah. Also I… still… kind of blame myself.”

He hadn’t meant to say it like that. It hadn’t sounded nearly as bad in his head, but before he could even take it back, Tadashi was already urgently protesting him, _“Hiro, NO – it’s not your fault, you’re not to blame–“_

“No, I mean,” he spoke over his brother’s distressed cries, “I don’t… I don’t really blame that lady. _I mean,_ ” he cut his brother off before he could protest again – _God,_ he was so terrible with words right now. “What I mean is… I still… I hold a lot of people accountable for what happened to me. That includes her, and me, and my flat mates, and Cass, and…”

Hiro didn’t want to say it – not after the guilt trip he’d subjected his brother to the other week. But he didn’t have to.

 _“And me,”_ Tadashi finished.

Hiro sighed. “I was… in a really shit place back then,” he murmured. “It was different with Cass, when… when I was still living with her. She abused me and no one else was involved and none of it was my fault. It was so clear-cut compared to…” He sighed again. His heart felt so heavy all of a sudden. He kicked a pebble down a flight of slights and sadly watched it bounce. “It’s complicated.”

_“Yeah.”_

“People wouldn’t get it.”

_“…Hiro?”_

“Hm?”

_“Have you considered… going back to therapy?”_

“What’s the point,” Hiro murmured, finding another pebble and throwing it after its predecessor. “It’s expensive anyway.”

_“Hiro, if money is the issue then I’d be more than willing to pay for you.”_

But it wasn’t the money. There were so many other issues at play now. It had actually crossed Hiro’s mind; the night after he’d meet Takahiro again, he seriously thought about calling his old therapist. But after hours of nervous back-and-forth deliberation, he’d ended up abandoning the idea. For all that he needed help and support, he just couldn’t get the words _mandatory reporting laws_ out of his head.

It would’ve been just a little bit torturously unfair. If he had to go to prison before his own abuser did.

In that instant Hiro knew exactly why he’d never shared the trauma of his eighteenth year with anyone. Because Takahiro had been so unbearably, inextricably caught up in all of it. And then, in that context, the possibility of his own abusive behaviour started to…

_Don’t think about it._

_“Hiro?”_

“Look, I don’t need money. I just don’t need therapy.”

_“But Hiro–“_

“I don’t _need it_ , Tadashi.”

_“You sound so upset.”_

Hiro made an effort to sound less upset, even though he was. Even though he could feel his vision blur with tears. “If I do then it’s probably because I only got a grand total of three hours’ sleep last night. I’m not upset.”

Tadashi still reacted as though he were. _“Are you at home? I can come over right away. We could talk more.”_

_Talk…_

Hiro thought about it. He thought about whispering into the phone, just then, so quiet, like he didn’t even want to be heard, “Tadashi, I think I did something terrible…”He thought about asking what exactly did his brother _know_ about that night, a long time ago? Did he think that anything had happened? Did he hear Hiro let himself in? Did he hear Takahiro stir? How were they positioned when they were found? What made him start yelling? He doesn’t remember and he needs to remember and Takahiro doesn’t remember and _he needs to remember–_

_DON’T THINK ABOUT IT._

_“Hiro, I’ll come over.”_

“ _No,_ Tadashi,” Hiro cried. “I’m fine. Forget about me. Really.” _Forget about me._

_“Mei and I were going to have dinner tonight, but I’m sure she’d understand if I–“_

“ _Don’t_ blow off the love of your life, you moron.”

_“Well, how about next Friday? I’ll drop by after–“_

“Fine, whatever.”

There was that sigh. Like Hiro was being difficult and it was hard for his brother to be patient with him. Some self-loathing part of Hiro thought, _Good._

_“OK, well… Just be sure to get a lot of contact with your friends–”_

“Sure.”

 _“–and with your partner.”_ Tadashi paused. _“How is he, by the way?”_

“Who.”

_“Morgan.”_

“ _Ughhh_ ,” Hiro groaned into his hand. He hadn’t really stopped feeling awful about that one, either. All he got from Morgan now was cold, unfriendly glances whenever they passed each other at work. He didn’t even say hi. “We broke up, who cares.”

 _“Oh, Hiro,”_ Tadashi exclaimed miserably. _“I’m sorry to hear that. How are you holding up?”_

 _Terribly._ “Fine.”

 _“Hmm. Well… Maybe,”_ Tadashi tried to be cheerful, _“you’ll find yourself in another relationship soon–”_

“Yeah, maybe.”

Tadashi sighed in frustration as he was cut off yet again. He sounded fed up, and it still hurt, even though Hiro knew it was his own fault. _“You don’t have to keep talking to me if you don’t want to, Hiro. Don’t let me keep you.”_

Hiro could hear someone thudding away on the stairs a few flights above him. He thought now might’ve been a good time to stand up and brush himself off. He pulled the phone away from his ear for a second, just to glance at the time, and his heart pounded to see that he’d been talking to his brother for over half an hour. He’d left Takahiro alone _for over half an hour._

“Hey listen,” Hiro started, reaching for the door to the library floor, preparing to throw it open and _run,_ “I gotta go now, but I’ll see you later.”

_“OK. Well, I’ll see you next Fri–“_

“Yeah, bye.”

He ended the call and sprinted back into the library, his momentum fuelled by stabs of fear. He came back to an empty table and Hiro spun around, fooled into thinking maybe he hadn’t gone far enough in yet, but he couldn’t see Takahiro anywhere. He searched the whole floor and he couldn’t see Takahiro _anywhere._

It was uncomfortably reminiscent of the time Hiro had lost Takahiro in downtown San Fransokyo. Only this time he couldn’t scream for him.

He returned to what he’d thoughtwas the table they had been seated at, and Hiro noticed in his panic that he’d overlooked the bit of lined paper lying there. He picked it up with trembling fingers. It was the essay Takahiro had started – his name and the date written in blue across the top. He hadn’t started the essay. He hadn’t written one single damn word of it, and the edges where Hiro clutched the paper crunched in the silence of the library.

He had written something though: _I left your stuff at the front desk. Sorry._

Hiro hurried down to the front desk on the ground floor. He leaned over the counter and hesitantly asked an older man if a high school student had left a green bag with a small laptop with them, and the older man seemed to know exactly what he was talking about. He brought it out instantaneously, and Hiro breathed a sigh of relief to have it back.

He walked out of the library. It was already late enough in the afternoon that it was getting dark. Hiro knew that the kid had probably left a while ago, but he still scanned the street for him, hoping that… He didn’t know. He just started his way back home.

He hoped Takahiro was OK.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A mercifully short chapter...
> 
> Something to note = So apparently Hiro is on anti-anxiety medication now (which admittedly I don't know all that much about beyond a basic Google search) because his anxiety is interfering with his daily life, and he feels like he needs it to stay on top of things. It should be said that there are much better ways of dealing with these sorts of problems (i.e. therapy - to treat the underlying issues).
> 
> Thank you all so much for the great comments <3 (I'm a lot less shy now so I reply a lot more >///>)

He hadn’t heard from Takahiro. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d started a new email to the boy, only to throw it away moments later. He wanted to talk to him, to ask what was going on with him, how was he doing, how was he holding up, and did he get his essay done, and why didn’t he pester Hiro anymore – but he couldn’t bring himself to do it without stirring the slurry of vileness and guilt and uneasiness and everything else he tried to keep down. So he just had to wait.

At times he didn’t even know what he was hoping for. Did he want Takahiro to contact him? Or did he want some confirmation that Takahiro would never try to contact him ever again?

\-------

He was wearing away. He thought his life had been coming back together, slowly but surely, but that had been… optimistic. A complete misjudgement on his part. Because he wasn’t fine. He was about the furthest thing from fine that he could possibly be. It wasn’t quite like when the bouts of depression would come around again, and every thought that entered his head served to remind him that the world was still awful and bad things still happened for no good reason. No, it was something else… Something quick, something sinister. And, without anyone to talk it out with, he turned to medicine.

He hadn’t taken any pills in a while. Every now and again he did, but he hadn’t needed to in a few years. And he _always_ let his brother know when he was back on them again – that was the deal. But not this time.

He still had some left over. Expired, maybe. He probably shouldn’t have taken them. He should’ve had the antidepressants – because they were safer, because they treated _all_ symptoms, because there was less of a risk in getting hooked. But they were slow. And helplessly tired and strung out and thinking too much at three in the morning on a Wednesday made him desperate. He had a large drink of water with the pills, telling himself that it was OK because he was only taking a small dose anyway, low for an adult. He only wanted just enough to put him to sleep. To make the nightmares leave. To make the worry stop.

He was drowsy at work the next day. Some people said he looked tired, others said he looked hungover. Someone rudely called out to him that he looked like _shit,_ and he would’ve gotten mad, except that his colleague was probably right. He hadn’t really found the time to do laundry, or shave, or have proper meals, or do anything really. Even Morgan spared him a concerned glance or two when they passed in the corridor, and Hiro winced to think that his ex-boyfriend might’ve thought he was responsible in some way.

He wasn’t good to operate any machinery that day, heavy or delicate, so he opted to work on a whole load of reports instead. He drank coffee like water, just to stay awake, but all it seemed to do was increase the typos in his work, until he felt like it had nulled the positive effects of his anti-anxiety medication altogether. He’d have to pick some more pills up later. He was almost out.

He’d only meant to take a few, but it soon became crystal to him that he wasn’t _functioning_ as a normal human should, and he needed help again. He carried nausea like a thick, hot knot in his abdomen, and Hiro had never really stopped to conceptualise just what _hell_ truly was before, but he knew now that it was feeling like this. It was feeling like death, but somehow still living.

It was becoming the very thing that had wrecked him.

He was practically slumped over his desk when his boss came down to see him, and he knew he was undoubtedly sending only the _best_ of impressions as he slowly drew himself up to stare unfocused at his boss. But Brian was a nice man. He always had such _nice_ things to say about everyone, and especially Hiro. But, today, he was clearly struggling; he looked right into Hiro’s eyes and admitted in a quiet, sympathetic voice that Hiro was the only one this month whose output had been remarkably low, whose innovation was seriously lacking. Even with the free time he’d been recently granted, he still had little to show for it. His boss may as well have outright said that Hiro was this month’s stunning disappointment.

By the time his boss had finished politely informing Hiro that he had _better_ start increasing his productivity, and soon, his face was red. Brian left, and a few of Hiro’s more competitive colleagues hooted with laughter and clapped him on the back, and he was sure he heard someone sneer, “you peaked too early”, and not only did it _annoy_ the fuck out of him, but it terrified him too. That had always been a sore point. He’d been a child prodigy, but he wasn’t a child anymore. He was just an ordinary person. He wasn’t even thirty yet and he was already subpar.

He told his colleagues to fuck off and turned back to his work, acting like he couldn’t have cared less, but it was a crippling blow to his self-esteem. His self-image. It made him want to sit in a bathroom stall for the rest of the afternoon, and he _hated_ himself _so much_ because what a _childish_ and _immature_ thing to do – what kind of _adult_ handled things the way that he did. He couldn’t do _anything_ right; everything he did was just one fuck-up after another. He just stumbled through life, making mistakes, making _horrible_ mistakes, and then he tried to pretend that they’d never even happened.

The only thing he had to be proud of lately was the fact that he’d made it almost a week without crying. What an impressive feat that was. Someone should’ve given him a trophy.

He couldn’t even go out with his friends for drinks anymore, when they offered. Not if he wanted to run the risk of spiking his blood pressure and making things so much worse for himself.

\-------

He’d just been waiting for his coffee one morning. Fresh out of the queue, he’d just paid some shopped-in vendor on the street and had stepped aside for other patrons to make their purchases. He wasn’t doing anything. He was just staring off into the distance, swaying a little with the cold wind, which he was feeling more and more of these days – not at all there. He hadn’t even noticed that the vendor was calling him, “ _Sir… Sir… Sir,_ ” with each new _“Sir”_ growing in intensity and frustration. Hiro hadn’t noticed until someone gave him a push towards the irritated vendor who was leaning over his counter, holding out a cup. _“Your coffee, Sir.”_

Alarmed and embarrassed, he made a mad dash for it, throwing out his arm and ramming straight into the back of a lady who had accidentally stepped between him and his coffee. He was knocked straight to the ground, like a twig, while he was sure that she’d barely stumbled. He fell hard on his ass, the shock jolting up through his bones.

“ _Fuck,”_ he cussed, forgetting that there were children about. He didn’t care. He was in pain and there was a lot of it.

“O-Oh my God,” the woman who must’ve knocked him cried, and he could feel her standing over him, fretting and stammering, “I-I’m so sorry – I was on my phone and I didn’t see you, I just– are you OK?”

“Fine,” Hiro said tersely, but he didn’t think he could move just yet. He pulled up one knee and tried to push himself up, but he faltered. A sharp hiss and a small “ow” slipped out between his teeth.

“I’m _so_ sorry – here, let me help you up.”

She put her hand out to him. That was the first thing he saw of her. Her hand. He was dimly aware that the vendor had given up on him, that people were keeping a tight line aroundthe scene. He took her hand, looked up into her face, and then pulled his hand away like he’d just been burned.

His heart went into overdrive; he felt like his chest was on the cusp of bursting. It was her. It was…

_Amanda._

For all that Hiro struggled to remember people’s faces, hers was not one he had forgotten in the past eight years or so. Her name had stayed with him. He’d only seen her once, for less than an hour, but he could still see all the little differences between her now and the image of her from his memories. Leaning over him now, she was dressed like a mature businesswoman, with more subtle make-up, with eyes no longer lusty and hazy and lidded, but… It was still her. It was her freckled face, her auburn hair, her green eyes…

He began to feel like he was choking.

She retracted her hand, not understanding why he hadn’t taken it. She asked again, concern hardening her features, “Are you OK?”

“I-I’m fine,” he stammered, backing away from her, and then he realised…

_She doesn’t recognise me._

Nothing registered on her face. She’d been staring at him for almost half a minute now and there was nothing – just the awkward, mortified concern for another customer she’d bumped into and had sent to the pavement. She didn’t stare at him the same way he stared at her, with eyes wide and full of fear. She looked like she didn’t even remember having _met_ him, let alone…

_Let alone…_

Another face leaned down to speak to him, startling him, “Can you move, son? Should we call an ambulance?”

“What? N-No.” He backed up some more. He gritted his teeth through the pain, finding that the shock of the situation was having a slight anaesthetic effect on him, and he stumbled back to his feet, stumbling like–

_Like a puppet._

He raised his head to her again, and she was frowning as she pressed for an answer, “Are you _sure_ you’re OK?”

“I…”

He didn’t know what to say. He felt like she was asking him about that night, that night that she didn’t remember, that night when they were both falling down drunkand she had kissed him and closed his door and undressed him and grabbed his wrists and pinned him down and told him he was cute and acted like she hadn’t heard him–

“I’m fine,” he insisted, walking backwards, away from her. Pedestrians barged into him, cars slammed on the brakes and honked at him, people were yelling at him to get off the road – he broke away from her gaze and turned to run as _far_ away from her as he could, like he was trying to outrun the very memory of her.

He didn’t stop running until he was back home. Safe at home.

He leaned into his locked door. He dragged in loud, ragged breaths and shuddered them out again. “I’m fine.” He was gasping. “I’m fine.” Tears pricked at his eyes. “I’m fine.” He was safe, but nothing was slowing down. “I’m fine… I’m fine… I’m fine…”

How many times had he walked past her before. How many times had been in the same coffee line as her and just never noticed. How many times had they dinged each other’s elbows as they crossed paths and blindly murmured half-hearted apologies. It terrified him to think about. It made him never want to leave his home ever again.

_You didn’t recognise Takahiro at first either…_

He closed his eyes. He whimpered like he wanted it to be true. “I’m fine.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> //weeps softly. Misses the good ole days when I could write a chapter that was well under 3k.
> 
> Ok so I had actually written this chapter about a week or more ago when I was still confused about the direction I wanted to take this story in. And I thought it was actually a pretty decent chapter (kinda - probably not) but I had to make DRASTIC changes to fit it with the current stuff. I'm not usually good at taking a 'finished' chapter and rewriting half of it, so uh... *pat on the back*.
> 
> One thing I really do need to work on as a writer is TIME-KEEPING. Some of you might've noticed by now how terrible I am at keeping a basic timeline. I’ll say “a few days later” and then suddenly say “almost a week” and hope like hell that no one cares. Also the whole 8/9 years thing... I am sorry, my friends D: 
> 
> I tell ya - it's a bit surreal to be writing about Disney characters watching a Disney film.
> 
> Woah even the notes sections are long now Dx Thanks for the comments! <3 you are all so lovely

It was a Friday evening when Hiro received another email at home. He quickly checked that it wasn’t important and almost fell out of his desk chair to see that it was from Takahiro, asking if he could go over to Hiro’s place.

Even under the heavy dose of his medication, it stressed Hiro out. He wanted time to consider it, but he wanted to reply to Takahiro _immediately,_ before the boy changed his mind, before he could say “don’t worry” in that infuriatingly resigned way that he did, and disappear like vapour from Hiro’s life once again. His fingers moved across the keyboard and, before Hiro could even understand what was happening, let alone whether or not it was a good idea, he’d already given Takahiro his home address.

It was raining pretty badly. Hiro was lucky when he did to run home from work because no sooner than he’d made it through his door, the annoying drizzle had turned into a torrential downpour, which was still going. So he really shouldn’t’ve been surprised when he opened the door half an hour later to a sopping wet Takahiro, but he was. The boy’s uniform was drenched, the tips of his hair were dripping, and raindrops trickled down his pale face. And he was just… standing there, not even looking at Hiro. His head was bowed, wet hair obscuring the expression in his lowered gaze. His lips were parted a little as he took quick, shivery breaths.

The sight of him alone was enough to yank cruelly on Hiro’s heartstrings. Takahiro was like a little abandoned puppy, left out in the rain. And he smelled like one too.

“Hello,” Takahiro murmured when Hiro didn’t say anything, his voice sounding… brittle.

“Taka…”

Hiro was still reeling. He wanted to say that he was happy to hear from the boy at long last, but he wasn’t. Even though Hiro had wished and wished some more and even prayed that Takahiro was _fine,_ this was clearly not fine. Hiro didn’t know what to say. “Wha…” He stared at the boy from head to toe. Small puddles of water had formed at his feet. “You don’t have a coat?”

“It’s at home.”

Hiro swallowed. Nothing about this situation seemed right. “Why didn’t you just go home from school?”

Takahiro gave a small shrug. “I dunno.”

“Why did you want to come here?” Hiro asked in a voice even smaller than the one he’d been using before.

“I dunno.”

Hiro’s stomach clenched. Now wasn’t the time to do this; it was _freezing_ outside – the rain may as well have been sleet. He was feeling colder by the second, and he could only partially attribute that to his wide open front door. Hiro stepped back and waved Takahiro inside.

Takahiro’s black school shoes made small squelching noises as he walked in, tracking big drops of water. Usually Hiro didn’t bother to uphold the Japanese tradition of leaving shoes by the door, but this time he was glad to see Takahiro kneel down to unlace his shoes. He slipped them off, putting the pair neatly side by side, and even his grey socks were soaked right through. Every inch of him was soaked right through. Right to the bone.

He started pulling off his socks when Hiro murmured, “Wait here,” and went to his drying rack to fetch a just-dried towel, a pair of shorts, and an old shirt. He handed them to Takahiro, who accepted them wordlessly. “You should dry off and change, or you might catch a cold.” God, did he sound like his big brother right now. He pointed to his bathroom. “I’ve got a line over the bath – you can hang your clothes up in there. There’s a heater there too. Um, have a shower if you want.”

Takahiro gave a single nod before standing up again, rubbing the towel across his damp face. “Thanks,” he said quietly.

Hiro flashed him a nervous smile, and then he left Takahiro to it, turning back into the living room area. The air-con was already running, but he turned it up a few more degrees, blasting himself with too-warm air. Too-warm for him maybe, but Takahiro would need it once he returned. The skin on his face had looked so hard and white and cold; it had looked like it would break the second it touched hot water.

He shook the tremor from his hands and took some quick breaths and tried to distract himself. He put on the TV, he went to the pantry and rummaged around for any food snacks he could find, dumping them into bowls and placing them on the coffee table. He put the kettle on and prepared some green tea for the two of them, jerking as he remembered the last time he’d had tea in Takahiro’s presence.

The bathroom door opened. Takahiro wandered out in Hiro’s clothes, the towel still around his shoulders. The shirt was a little big on Takahiro’s thin frame, but he seemed to like it. “I think I actually remember you wearing this shirt,” he said, smiling distantly as he pulled it away from his body and looked down at it. It was just a red shirt with a faded ninja on it, but it was fairly distinctive, Hiro supposed.

“It’s an old shirt,” he said offhand, walking around to set two mugs of tea on the coffee table. He ran his palms over the thighs of his jeans, anxious and distracted, always thinking _what next._ “Uh… there’s some food there,” he gestured the disorganised range of snacks, “sorry it’s not… healthy, but um, help yourself… Is it warm enough in here?” he queried, picking up the air-con remote even though Takahiro nodded. “You sure? O-K…” He set it back down again. He hadn’t felt this tense in a while. “I-Is there anything I can get you or… anything?”

Takahiro thought about it. “Can I have a blanket?”

Hiro blinked. Had he heard that right? “A blanket? Uh… OK.” He walked past him, murmuring, “Just a sec,” and dug through his linen cupboard. He yanked out a musty blanket he only brought out in winter from the very back. He shook it out and handed it over to Takahiro, apologising, “Sorry it smells like… cupboard,” but Takahiro didn’t seem to mind. He wrapped himself up in it and settled down onto Hiro’s couch.

“Anything else,” Hiro asked the boy, and it scared him how much he meant it. Guilt was cruel and relentless that way. It was turning him into a whole new kind of puppet.

“No,” Takahiro said, leaning forward to pick up his tea and sip at it. At least he looked content. He wasn’t shivering anymore. “Thanks.”

“No problem…”

Hiro took a seat beside him. He opened up a large bag of flavoured chips and slowly ate them one by one, not at all hungry, too full of nausea, as they both watched whatever was on TV in silence. Some old remastered Disney film from the previous century. It looked like _Pinocchio_. Hiro wasn’t absolutely sure that it was until he heard the on-screen character break into a rendition of _I’ve Got No Strings,_ and then Hiro was inhaling sharply and changing the channel.

No, fuck that. He needed to do something else entirely.

“Wanna play something?” he asked Takahiro without looking at him, remotely turning on one of his consoles and bringing up a screen full of game icons.

What he heard next froze him in place.

“ _I’ve got no strings, to hold me down,_ ” Takahiro sang, quiet and breathless, “ _or make me fret, or make me frown. I had strings but now I’m free. There are no strings on meee._ ”

“I hate that song, please don’t sing it,” Hiro said quickly before the boy could remember the next verse. He picked up a controller and he was sure that his hands were shaking, but he kept his eyes firmly on the screen and breathed and told himself that it was fine, it was OK, it was alright. Takahiro was just a kid and he didn’t know any better. He asked again, “Wanna play a game?”

“Sorry, Hiro.”

Hiro breathed. “S’OK, d’ya wanna play a game?”

“Uh… Sure.”

“Which one?”

“Ummm…”

Hiro sighed in the back of his throat, mouth closed. He needed Takahiro to just pick a game already; he didn’t care which one. The abrupt silence that had filled the room was unbearable, so Hiro tried to encourage a quicker response by flicking through the games, rattling off some of the best and the worst ones, while Takahiro just stared, nodding occasionally. The kid tried to look like he was too spoilt for choice, but it was probably just that he didn’t know what most of the titles were.

Finally Takahiro said, “You choose one.”

Hiro picked something easy and therapeutic, something that had been around since Takahiro was still a kid. The screen went black and then a jerky cut scene with no context whatsoever began to play.

“You used to play a lot of games,” Hiro said, watching awkward, pixelated people move across the screen. “When you were younger, I mean,” he added, feeling the pinch of discomfort in his stomach.

“Yeah,” Takahiro agreed. “I played a lot of those… cute monster games online. I had a lot of monster pets. They’re probably all dead now though.”

“They don’t die,” Hiro informed him. “They just starve. Eternally.”

The tense atmosphere diffused a little then as Takahiro chuckled, and Hiro couldn’t help but feel thankful. Apparently Takahiro found the eternal suffering of his childhood virtual pets _funny,_ and for some reason it made Hiro smile too _._ He thought about teasingly calling _him_ the real monster, but he just managed to bite it back. His body was already doing its best to flatten the waves of anxiety this entire situation was causing to roll through him. Why would he make it worse.

Takahiro was _bad_ at the game Hiro had picked out, even though it was supposed to be easy. The boy played like he’d never touched a controller in all his life, and even with thorough instruction from tutorials his character was still moved strangely and with slow reflexes.

“I’m really bad at this,” Takahiro mumbled as he died for the umpteenth time in a row, setting down his controller in defeat. “Sorry.”

“It’s OK, we can play something different.” Hiro switched to something even a preschool kid would have trouble fucking up. Takahiro seemed infinitely better at it, and his enthusiasm picked up a little. But it didn’t do much for Hiro. “So you don’t play games anymore?”

Takahiro shook his head. “Not really. Not since I was a little kid.”

“Your dad doesn’t let you play games?”

“No – dad’s big on games. Mostly boring educational ones. But he still let me play anything I wanted. I just didn’t want to anymore.”

“Why?” Hiro was actually doing worse than Takahiro on this game now. Making something so easy to win also made it so easy to lose against; he kept getting distracted, missing cues. “You loved games.”

“I lost interest, I guess. I lost interest in a lot of things.” Hiro felt him shrug nonchalantly. “Dad says my personality changed a lot around that age.”

Hiro didn’t want to know. “What age was that?”

“I dunno. Before I was ten?”

Hiro didn’t want to think about it. “Your tea’s getting cold,” he reminded Takahiro gently as he reached for his own. “Do you want to do something else?”

“Play another game?”

“No, I mean– well, we can play another if you want, but I meant we could do something other than play games if you don’t like them anymore.” Hiro had no idea exactly _what_ would replace video games, other than PC games, but he’d think of something if he had to.

“No, this is OK. I like this game.”

“OK.” Hiro glanced down at the coffee table full of food. He couldn’t eat anymore; he felt like his anxiety had walled off his stomach entirely. “There’s food, if you want it.”

“I know.”

“OK.”

It felt tense. Hiro didn’t know if Takahiro was feeling it too, but it definitelyfelt tense on his own end. Neither of them were speaking anymore. Hiro considered trash-talking his opponent, proclaiming his victory in his usual obnoxious way that he did, but he wasn’t feeling it right now – of _course_ he wasn’t feeling it. Hiro didn’t even want to play this game. But he was just going to keep playing it until Takahiro left because what else could he do?

Eventually it became clear that Takahiro didn’t want to play either. He’d been terrific to start with, but now he was just terrible. He had the reflexes of roadkill. He wasn’t trying anymore; he hit buttons at random, and he hit them sparsely.

A few minutes later, Takahiro had stopped pushing buttons altogether. The controller lowered in his hands. It would’ve been rude to wipe the floor with an unmoving character, so Hiro was forced to stop pushing buttons too.

Hiro kept his gaze glued to the screen unwaveringly. He thought he knew what was coming, and he was scared stiff.

“Hiro,” the boy said, and his voice sounded so teary and timid that it sent a stake right through Hiro’s chest. The more Takahiro spoke, the more it shoved right in. “Can I say something?”

Hiro opened his mouth to say ‘sure’ but no sound came out. His character was running round and round in circles, jumping occasionally, doing nothing to keep his intense interest for as long as it did. Takahiro wasn’t even looking at the screen anymore; Hiro could feel the boys’ eyes on him now. He didn’t know what kind of expression Takahiro was making, but… if his voice was anything to go by, Hiro didn’t want to see it.

“I think… something really did happen to me.”

Hiro bit down and pulled his bottom lip into his mouth to hide its trembling. He was too much of a coward to look at him. He barely even managed a nod to acknowledge he’d spoken.

“Do you think I should…? I dunno. Tell someone?”

The fear was potent. It took hold of him fast, disarming his guilt and regret and morality– he remembered himself. Or perhaps he forgot himself. He wasn’t sure which yet.

“No,” he choked out, trying to pass off his emotions for a coughing fit. He shakily had the dregs of his lukewarm tea. “No, um… Tell _me_ , I mean. You can tell me.”

“You sure?”

Hiro nodded, but it felt like the wrong gesture. “Yep. Tell me, and… Tell me what– what exactly do you think happened?”

“I dunno,” Takahiro said gloomily. The blanket fell from his shoulders as he leaned far forward, over the controller sitting useless in his lap. He was holding his head, or perhaps holding his face. “I just feel… really shitty. All of the time. Ever since your seminar and meeting Tadashi and what you said at the library and… I remember some things about back then, but like… I can never remember enough. Like, something in my head is just blocking me whenever I get too close.”

Hiro knew exactly what he was talking about. He felt the exact same way.

Takahiro suddenly resurfaced and Hiro actually jumped. “I asked my dad about Cass last night, but… he just sent me to my room. He doesn’t like to talk about her. Or you. I think he’d kill me if he found out I was over here.”

“Then _why are you_ ,” Hiro cried before he could stop himself. He forced himself to remain calm. “Why are you over here?”

Hiro couldn’t spy on him out the corner of his eye anymore. Takahiro was leaning right back, flat against the couch. “I guess,” he said, slow and thoughtful, “I just wanted to see you. You’re like, the only person I trust.”

The words physically pained Hiro to hear. His head instinctively wanted to shake side to side but he forced it to hold still. He couldn’t even _see_ the game anymore; tears were stinging in his eyes.

 _God_ , he couldn’t even bear to say the words aloud. “You trust me?”

“Well, yeah. You were my friend.”

_Friend…_

“When I was young, you were there for me.”

“For like a _week,_ ” Hiro cried.

“Doesn’t matter,” Takahiro said, and Hiro wondered if he could hear a smile in his voice now. “I remember a bit more about you. You played with me when everyone else was too busy. You took me out. You gave me your old room and all of your cool stuff. You… You even gave me an email address so I could contact you if anything went wrong. You worried about me when I was staying with Cass alone, when everyone else just… let it happen. Like it wasn’t a big deal. I dunno, I just… Sounds like you really cared about me.”

It was too much – it was too _fucking_ much. Hiro wiped a hand across his face and– _fuck,_ he was crying. He was just a couple of breaths away from sobbing too; he could feel them swelling in the back of his throat. _Play the game,_ he told himself, but there wasn’t even anything to play. _Play the game, play the game, play the game, play the game, play the game…_

“I might, um… check on my uniform. Where was the bathroom again?”

Hiro wordlessly pointed to a door down the hall. Takahiro stood up, leaving the blanket behind, and silently padded over to the bathroom. As soon as the door shut, Hiro threw aside the controller, grabbed the nearest pillow, and criedinto it. He pressed that pillow so hard into his face that he could’ve suffocated himself with it. _Be fast,_ he told himself, _You’ve got less than a minute before that kid comes out again and you can’t let him see you like this, you just CAN’T, so get it out of your system now, while you can, and then just go back to your game._

Hiro counted the seconds in his head, like he’d been taught. It was soothing enough. The immediate fear and wretchedness dissipated, but the self-hatred and _guilt_ still lingered like a rot in his core. It was uncomfortable, but it didn’t impede his ability to calm down. Within a minute, he’d already put the pillow back where he’d found it and had dried his eyes of all tears. It would’ve been impressive, if not for the fact that everything about it was awful. He ended up eating more food that made him want to throw up the second it touched his lips. He really deserved it.

A knocking came from down the hall then and Hiro froze. He stood up hesitantly and hovered by the bathroom door, wondering if that had been Takahiro, but then the noise came again from the front door, louder and more impatient this time. Hiro had a small, unenthusiastic glimpse through the peephole, and then he was throwing the door wide open, almost slamming it into the wall. “Tadashi,” he cried, _surprised_ more than anything. “What are you doing here?”

Tadashi chuckled and shook his head like his younger brother was just so funny. “Oh, OK – so you really weren’t getting any of my calls. And here I thought you were just ignoring me.”

“Ignoring you, what…?”

“You should check your phone more often, genius. It’s Friday.” Tadashi shot him a meaningful look that meant absolutely nothing to Hiro. He held up the date on his phone to prove it _really was_ Friday, but Hiro pushed it aside irritably. “Remember? The other week, I said I’d come over Friday after work? We’d get dinner?”

“ _Oh_ ,” was all Hiro could manage after a long silence, and Tadashi’s face fell.

“Bad time?” he asked, attempting to figure out the problem since Hiro wasn’t very forthcoming. “You already had dinner? You’re feeling sick? You got a lot of work to do?”

It didn’t even matter how many guesses Tadashi had; he could’ve stood there all night trying to understand why his younger brother was so petrified, and he _still_ wouldn’t even scrape close to the truth. The look that entered Tadashi’s face as soon as the bathroom door opened and Takahiro stepped out clearly indicated that.

The initial surprise of his older brother’s unexpected visit had given way to pure fear now, as he heard Takahiro say, “Hi Tadashi,” from behind him. “What are you doing here?”

It took a few seconds for Tadashi to respond to it. Fear got the better of Hiro, and he tried to force the door closed on his brother, but Tadashi’s hand shot out and kept it open. Tadashi smiled at the boy widely. “Taka-kun,” he said, sounding so _pleasantly_ surprised, but Hiro could hear an edge to his brother’s voice that made his breath hitch. “I was just about to ask you the same thing.”

Hiro winced as Tadashi levelled him with a hard, unamused gaze. “Hiro. A word.”

Hiro protested with unintelligible cries, but he didn’t have the strength he needed to stop himself from being hauled back inside and thrown into his bedroom. He fell face-first onto his springy bed, hearing Tadashi excuse them both from Takahiro’s presence, and then the door closed firmly behind him. He wasn’t quick enough to face his brother; Tadashi grabbed his arms and flipped Hiro over, leaning into face _incensed._

“What the _fuck_ , Hiro,” Tadashi hissed, his words hushed. “Why am I _always_ telling you to _stay away_ from him? You told me yourself– you promised me you weren’t _seeing_ this boy anymore, and _now_ he–! What is he even _doing_ here?”

“None of your business,” Hiro growled back, defensive as ever, but that had been the wrong answer.

Tadashi gave him a dark look. It was one of those I’m-not-playing-around looks he rarely used. “Seriously. What is he doing here.”

Tadashi’s grip on him tightened and Hiro caved. “We’re just hanging _out_ ,” he cried, practically whining. “We’re just playing games, OK? He _wanted_ to come over. You are _so_ _overreacting._ ”

“Hiro,” Tadashi moaned, pinching at the bridge of his nose in frustration. He pulled back a little, just enough to let Hiro sit up and scoot to the head of his bed. “Hiro, you can’t _do this,_ not after… _Ugh._ ” Tadashi brought his hand away and he looked less angry now and more… distressed. Incredulous. “He’s _seventeen,_ ” he exclaimed quietly.

Hiro stared back at his brother curiously, having absolutely no idea what that meant. And then he did, and his eyes just _bugged_.

 _“What?”_ he yelled, and Tadashi made frantic shooshing motions at him, but they didn’t register; Hiro was too far gone. He couldn’t believe his brother right now. “Tadashi, I’m _not._ I-I _wouldn’t._ How could you even think…?”

“Lower your voice,” Tadashi ordered. “Well then why is he wearing your clothes.”

Words to express Hiro’s incredulity alluded him for a few moments, and he could only make wild gestures at his brother. “Because it’s _raining?”_ he cried, throwing up his arms. “Because he arrived here fucking _drenched_ –“

_“Lower.”_

“–and I thought maybe– just _maybe_ I should be a good host and not let him sit around in wet clothes and catch a cold and make my furniture damp?”

Tadashi’s confused anger seemed to subside a little. He looked away with an expression that Hiro sure as all hell hoped was _shame._

Hiro scowled, “You sure fucking jumped to conclusions, didn’t you.”

“Well what was I _supposed_ to think?” Tadashi cried, rounding on him once again. “You still lied to me – you still told me that you weren’t ever going to see him again. I shouldn’t have to remind you why it’s best that you _don’t ever_ see him again.”

The fear kicked in all over again, twofold, tenfold – the fear was so mountainous that it terrified even Hiro. He wondered if he might’ve been having a heart attack. It was like all of the unnecessary anxiety he’d saved himself from the last week or so was coming back to hit him at full force. He couldn’t break out of it. Hiding in his own home wasn’t enough; he wanted to crawl under his bed and never come out again. _The monster under the bed._

Whatever was happening to Hiro internally must’ve had no obvious bodily manifestations, because Tadashi just shook his head and waved his hands like he was through with him. “I’m taking Takahiro back home,” he muttered, opening up the door again, and then he was calling out, “Taka-kun, I’m leaving now. Would you like a ride home?”

There was no answer from the boy. Or perhaps there was and Hiro just couldn’t hear it for his own heartbeat pulsing in his ears.

“Taka-kun.” Tadashi’s tone was insistent this time. What had been framed as an offer before was now an order. “It’s almost seven. I think your dad will be wondering where you are. OK? Get your uniform.”

It had touched more than a few nerves, it had pressed more than a few buttons – what his older brother had said. Hiro took a breath and it felt like the first one he’d had in over a minute. He was calming down – miraculously, impossibly – and he fell back onto his pillow and stared up at the ceiling. He hated this position. It was associated with too many bad memories, but he wouldn’t move, he wouldn’t shut his eyes. It was like he was punishing himself for… He didn’t know.

For everything.

What really broke his heart was when Takahiro still stopped by his doorway, against Tadashi’s incessant pushing, to say goodbye to him.

Yeah. Hiro had sure felt that.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *tentatively assumes that no one despised the last chapter and it's still safe to go on...*
> 
> <3

He got another email from Takahiro, much later that night. Just reading it made Hiro feel like his internal organs were spilling right out of his body.

_Tadashi asked me a lot of weird questions as he took me home. Weird questions about you. I got really confused – does he think you tried to hit on me or something? Are you gay? Anyway I told him that you were my friend, like when I was a kid, and he got real quiet… and then he said something like “you should stay away from him” ……??? I don’t get it. Why would your brother say that?_

_Does he hate you or something? He just sorta stormed into your house today, and you were yelling a lot… I remember you were both always fighting when I was a kid. Whenever I see you together, you’re always fighting. I thought brothers were supposed to love each other… I thought I was really missing out, growing up as an only child. I really wanted a brother or a cousin or something but… Maybe siblings aren’t all they’re cracked up to be?_

_Um, Tadashi ended up taking your clothes – the ones you gave me. He said he’ll give them back to you later so…_

_(Also why do you hate Pinocchio?)_

Hiro couldn’t respond. He walked from his computer to the fridge, only to find that he’d emptied it of all booze a few days ago – just in case something like this would happen, and he’d find himself not really caring anymore if his medication mixed with hard liquor.

He felt like a ticking time bomb. Ready and waiting for the slightest little nudge to go off.

\-------

“Luce.”

“Hmm?”

“What do you think about… victims who become abusers.”

Hiro glanced up at her after an uncomfortable pause passed between them. She was having a long sip from her wine glass, brow furrowed. She placed the glass back down again and topped it back up from the bottle. She proffered it to him. “You’re _sure_ you don’t want a drink?” she asked, even though he’d already declined her twice before that night.

“I’m sure,” he promised.

She shook her head disappointedly. “You’re at my bar – you may as well have just one.”

Hiro was already solely tempted from the events of the past week or so. He really didn’t need his friend to goad him on and make his resistance even harder. “No thanks.”

She grunted something that sounded like ‘ _fine’_ as she had another drink. Even when she was done, she still didn’t answer Hiro. She stared at him staring at her, looking unnerved. “What.”

“…I… I asked you about…?” She raised her eyebrows at him. She must’ve been more than a little tipsy by now, which Hiro hoped was a good thing. “About victims who become abusers… The uh, cycle of abuse?”

“ _Oh,_ ” she cried, and a look of offence suddenly replaced her look of understanding. “ _That_ bullshit. You don’t seriously believeall that stuff, do you?” she asked, exasperated, and Hiro could only blink at her because he barely knew anything about it. She rolled her eyes and sighed heavily and opened out her hands for some drunken gesticulation to go along with her explanation. “Ok, so it’s _true_ that there’s some evidence of past sexual victimisation predicting sexually abusive behaviour, but it’s not so fucking _determinate._ It’s not _nearly_ as widespread as everything thinks it is. It’s just more stupid stereotyping, fearmongering bullshit from the media – if the ‘cycle of abuse’ were _real_ then wouldn’t there be more _women_ perpetrators, since they make the bulk of victims? But no – that’s just not the case, even _without_ the huge gaps and biases and what have you.”

Hiro didn’t say a word. He didn’t move except to give a slight nod every once in a while. He was staring at her intently, sitting perfectly still, silently absorbing all of the information she was throwing at him.

“I guess, for the shreds of evidence we _do_ have, it’s mostly a guy phenomenon. Guys are more likely to externalise on the whole, and especially guys who were abused by women – they’re probably more likely to go on to be abusive assholes themselves. To get their power back. To feel in control.”

Hiro didn’t nod. His eyes slipped down to stare at the table.

“But _none_ of that is as fucking prevalentas some people would have you believe. Of course it’s hard to get reliable data from the general population though, because what kind of abuser-victim is just gonna come forward to say that they abused someone once and– no, no, _please_ don’t put me away for life… Right?”

“Right,” Hiro echoed her, voice croaky.

“I guess it _is_ kind of a problem,” she mused. “Some of those victims – male and female – end up in the exact same rehabilitation centres as their abusers _._ Guys just sitting around in group, talking about how they mercilessly ripped into their victims, who’re sitting just a couple of feet away from them…”

Hiro grimaced. It was so awful to even think about, and he wondered if it would be rude to ask her to stop talking now.

“So why’re you asking?”

A small twinge of panic – he didn’t have to try very hard to tame it. “Oh, you know,” he murmured, tapping his fingernails on his glass of lemonade, producing little tings, “I could talk about it, maybe. If it’s a male thing, I could…”

“I wouldn’t mention it.”

Hiro looked up at his friend. She was wearing a very lopsided, very careful and hesitant expression, and Hiro couldn’t tame the panic so easily this time. The pangs of it weren’t small.

“Just because of your characteristics and all,” she hastened to add, probably in response to watching him pale. “It just wouldn’t be such a good idea. Perfect victim, remember?”

Hiro stared at her until something in him… clicked.

“…Y-Yeah, right, of course,” he said, his voice suddenly loud, “No I’m just asking, well, because, someone sent me an email about it– that they think they might’ve, um, abused someone before, but they had a history of sexual abuse themselves, so…”

He was so lucky she was a bit too drunk to notice what was wrong with him. She chuckled a little and leaned forward and breathed, “ _Listen,_ Hiro… I’m gonna let you in on a little secret.” She raised a finger to her pursed lips and winked. “I’m _all_ forthe recovery and rehabilitation of sexual offenders. _Really._ I absolutely am. But… just between you and me? Because I’m a survivor too – like you, like them – I just find that kind of thing… _so_ …”

She took long enough trying to find the right word that Hiro already had an excruciatingly exact idea of what it was by the time she finally uttered it.

 _“Repulsive,”_ she hissed, and Hiro flinched. “I really can’t feel much sympathy for those kinds of offenders. It’s like… _OK_ so, I don’t understand because it’s not _me,_ and I’m not in their shoes and all that but– _seriously_ …You _hurt_ people, and you _know_ it fucking hurts because _you were hurt yourself._ I just feel like…” She raised her hands, twisting and contorting them in an attempt to illustrate how she felt. “What, you…? You develop some kind of a _kink_ for it? Is that it? You suffered and now you want to pass on that burden and inflict your own pain onto someone _else?_ W-What… What kind of a _sick fuck are_ you, and why should we even bother trying to help scum like you?”

Hiro fought to control his breathing. He stared at her with wide and fearful eyes, feeling like she was directly addressing him, with all of her scorn and derision and contempt…

She was still for a few seconds, as if she were waiting for Hiro to answer her. And then she started laughing, easing up on her grim intensity, leaning her head back against the wall. She had another drink, her shoulders bouncing with small shrugs. “I know it’s not very _PC._ Alice tells me off. She’s like,” Lucy imitated Alice’s soft-spoken voice, “‘but _intimacy deficits_ , and _nature of harm_ , and _blah, blah, blah, blah_ ’… But I can’t help it – it’s just the way I instinctively feel. And it takes a _lot_ of effort not to let it affect my work. I’m a nice person on the outside. Er… sometimes.” She smiled at him sheepishly. “But on the inside I can be a real _bitch_.”

Hiro didn’t know what to do. There was nothing he could do. He’d met with her tonight, harbouring a little hope like a dying flame that he could tell her… But that flame was dead and gone now. Just a puff of smoke.

She was smiling at him, and there was nothing else to do except smile right back at her. Like smiling at death.

\-------

When he next meet with her for some lunch, over a week later, she noticed the changes in him almost instantly.

“Your hair looks different,” Lucy remarked once they’d grabbed some food and found a table. She reached up to run a hand through his hair. “Less messy... Did you get it cut?”

“Yeah.”

“Huh.” She gave him a quiet nod of approval. “Looks good.” Her eyes dipped down and _bulged._ “A-And,” she laughed, “You’re wearing a _dress shirt_. _No_ hoodie.” She peaked under the table. “ _No jeans._ Wow.” She gazed back up at him, bemused but still smiling. “This isn’t like you. Why all this effort all of a sudden?”

“I don’t know,” Hiro murmured. “Just wanted to… look nicer, I guess.” _Be a perfect victim._

“Did your boyfriend make you,” she smirked, and Hiro froze. She took up her chopsticks and spoke around a couple of dumplings. “There’s noway you’re doing this yourself. You _must_ have someone smartening you up.”

“Um… I’m, actually in a new relationship now.” He stared at her, hard and convincing. “With a woman. Her name’s Emma.”

“Dang,” Lucy uttered. “You move fast, don’t you.”

“It’s been weeks,” Hiro protested, to which Lucy teasingly coughed ‘ _bi-slut’_ under her breath. Hiro immediately asserted, as loud as he dared in a crowded food court, “I’m not bisexual.”

Her can of coke paused midway to her lips. “Oh, you aren’t?”

“N-No. I’m not. I don’t like guys. I thought I did, but… I was wrong. It was a mistake, dating Morgan. A mistake that no one ever needs to know about.”

Hiro hadn’t noticed that his hands had formed tight fists until Lucy was staring down at them. He made an effort to release them, allowing the colour to return to his knuckles.

“Did something happen?” she asked quietly.

“ _No–_ nothing happened. I’m just not bisexual, OK? I’m completely straight.”

“ _Riiight,_ ” Lucy drawled, and she didn’t sound nearly as convinced as Hiro needed her to be. She kept eating her dumplings and noodles and fried rice, while Hiro could only prod at his unappetising salad. “Y’know,” she said after a few minutes of silence, “I don’t care what you are or what you aren’t. It doesn’t bother me at all.”

_You say that, but…_

“I’m not a slut,” Hiro insisted.

She was laughing now, “ _Geez_ , dude – I was just _joking_.”

“I’m like the opposite of a slut.”

“A prude?”

“No, I’m… I-I mean, yeah. I am prudish. I don’t even really like sex.”

“OK, Hiro?” She put out a hand to swallow up one of his own, and hers felt so _warm._ “You’re kind of freaking me out here. What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing’s wrong with me,” he denied. “I’m fine. I’m good. I’m _great_. _Everything_ is great. I’ve been real busy lately. I cleaned my house, I threw out a bunch of junk, I started eating right, sleeping right, I worked really hard on a lot of new inventions for work, and I… finally started putting some effort into how I look.”

“Wow,” Lucy exclaimed, surprised. “Hey and don’t forget all that fantastic work you’ve been doing for our organisation,” she reminded him. “You’ve been answering emails and making appearances and contributing to charity fundraisers and meeting survivors in person and doing _all_ kinds of crazy shit for us. You’re like a one-man campaign.”

“Right,” Hiro said, smiling precariously, “So kill me now, while I’m still like this – before something changes and I ruin everything.”

Lucy struck a bewildered expression and laughed, like she thought it was some kind of stupid, melodramatic joke. Even Hiro laughed, hard and loud and forced, like it was all just a joke, like he wasn’t aware that some dark part of him definitely wasn’t joking. Wasn’t laughing along with the rest of him.

She smacked him on his upper arm with the back of her hand, still laughing, “Become a martyr.”

Hiro was still laughing too, “Suffer for the cause.”

She didn’t stop laughing, “Maybe you should’ve let those violent thugs who cornered you all that time ago mess you up – just enough to point to your bruises and broken bones and say ‘holy shit, look at what these assholes _did_ to me, feel _sorry_ for me!’”

Hiro’s laughter died out, little by little, until he was just staring deadpan over the top of Lucy’s head, lost in thought, seized by an idea. He could no longer tell whether it was a smart one or not.

“Hiro?”

His eyes centred back on her, and she was looking concerned now. “Seriously. You’re freaking me out. Eat your damn salad.”

“Sorry,” he said, forcing a bright smile to enter his face. He picked up his plastic fork and unclipped the plastic container. “I just zoned out for a bit, that’s all. I’m fine.”

She scoffed, looking down at her food and shaking her head. “You keep saying that.”

“Because it’s true.”

She sighed. “ _O-K,_ if you say so… Y’know I’m here if you ever wanna talk.” She glanced up at him thoughtfully. “You’re not doing anything today, right? Wanna come back to my place after this? Hang out, watch some old films or something?”

“Sorry,” he said. “I would, but… there’s something else I have to do.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man... This chapter might be a bit much... "It gets better!" I insist, putting out progressively worse and worse chapters... D: (but it does get better though I swear.)
> 
> (The next chapter might be a few days away yet (It's a hard one), so that'll be some time for you brave souls to recover before uh... the beginning of the end, I guess we can safely call it?)
> 
> Thank you guys so much for the comments - It was nice to hear from you all <3

The Lucky Cat café hadn’t really changed at all in the past nine years. In the past thirteen years. Since Hiro had first moved in, when he was just a toddler. At least, he didn’t think it had changed. He didn’t really keep an exact image of it in his head anymore; he just stepped out of the tram and gazed upon it and thought… yeah, that looked like the place. This was discomfortingly familiar.

He pushed through the door, holding it open for some people who were coming in behind him. He let them go ahead, feeling the atmosphere change, suddenly hit with the coffee and pastry aroma that some subconscious part of his brain still remembered and reacted to, even if he didn’t.

He stood there for a few moments, just _feeling_ his presence there, until a smiley young lady in an apron approached him, asking in warm, helpful tones if it was a table for one. He gave a small, half-incidental nod and then he was led to a little table by the large round window. A jug of water and a menu was placed before him, seemingly out of nowhere, and the server stood over him, pad and pen poised in hand. She was asking him if he wanted to hear the specials, if he knew what he wanted to drink, if he wanted to fill out their customer satisfaction survey and be in the draw to win–

“Um,” he interrupted her, and she looked down at him with wide, attentive eyes. He glanced behind her to the counter, the display cabinets, the expresso machines, but there were only students like her running them. He looked back up at her. “Um… Is… Cass Hamada h-here?”

There was a micro-pause between her receiving his request and her answering smile. She slipped her pad and pen into the pouch of her apron and clasped her hands together. “Ms Hamada is in the kitchen at the moment, I’m afraid; she’s rather busy.”

Hiro didn’t care. “It’s important.”

The server inhaled silently. “Well, who should I say would like to speak with her?”

“Uh… Hiro.”

“Hiro?”

“She knows who I am,” he muttered, turning his head away.

“Alright,” the server said, nodding, sounding a little unsure of the situation. She smiled once more. “I’ll just go see what she says.”

Hiro watched the server as she made off for the stairs. He poured himself a glass of water, willing his hands not to shake, and he had long, slow drinks that did nothing to calm his pounding heart. He was sure that it was just the anticipation that was doing this to him. Once he could actually see her face again, everything would be a little bit better… It was just the suspense. Just the suspense. And it would be over soon.

His eyes snapped to the stairs at the slightest hint of movement. The server descended first, followed by what must’ve been… Cass. The server murmured something into her ear, pointing in his direction, and Hiro felt his entire body erupt with nervous tingling as Cass nodded and crossed the room.

She stopped just a few feet away from him, and he craned his neck to stare at her, holding it there uncomfortably as he took all of her in. She was showing her age; her hair was greying at the roots, and her face bore just noticeable creases around her mouth and her eyes. Her lips were pressed into a small, hard line. Her green eyes were narrowed and cruel. Just looking at her up this close made Hiro feel unfeasibly cold.

He noticed she was wearing a patterned silk scarf around her neck. Hiro had to wonder if it was there to hide any scars.

For a few long moments words evaded him. He had no idea what he wanted to say or why he’d even come to see her. “Hi Cass,” he said, and her eyes sharpened a tiny fraction. He didn’t so much see it as he did feel it. “Can we talk?”

“I’m busy,” she answered flatly.

“I know but…” He didn’t even know how he looked in her eyes. He didn’t know if he looked as small and meek as he felt. He wondered if some tiny, still nurturing part of her was looking at him and thinking, _look how he’s grown._ “I really have to talk to you…”

“Oh so _now_ you express interest in talking to me,” she said through gritted teeth. She moved her jaw in a way that looked like she was grinding them. “I think it’s a little too late for closure.”

“I’m not here for that,” he said, and her eyes widened a little, though they became no softer. “I’m here about something else.”

“What else could we _possibly_ have to talk about.”

“Well, I…” Hiro glanced around furtively, “don’t want to do it here…”

A groan crossed with a sigh cut from her throat as she turned her back to him, and then he was watching it retreat back upstairs. Hiro rose from his chair and followed her, every small elevation up the stairs dropping his stomach just a little bit more. He came into the kitchen, where flour dusted almost every surface that wasn’t home to various pots, pans, trays, tins, and bowls. The oven was on full blast. Dishes were piled high in the sink. The entire room stank with the sickly sweet aroma of _cake._

Some pop music drifted from a radio, hidden in somewhere amongst the junk cluttering the kitchen counter, but Cass knew exactly where to reach in to switch it off. An uncomfortable silence settled in the room. She leaned back against the counter, crossing her arms, fixing Hiro with a callous stare once more.

“Well?” she said suddenly, startling him. “I don’t have all day. Why are you here?”

“I… I need to know,” he murmured, staring at her unabashed. All he could think for a few moments was thank _God_ for his medication; he knew he wouldn’t have made it even this far without it. “About… Takahiro.”

“Takahiro?” She slowly frowned, like she hadn’t ever expected to hear that name again. “What…?”

“Did… Did you ever actually…?”

_“What.”_

“Did you abuse him?”

“Oh for _fuck’s sake,_ ” she yelled, slamming one of her fists down, back into the cupboards she was leaning against, and it caused a jolt of _something_ to go through Hiro. Fear mostly, but also– _That’s good, that’s good, now hit me instead._

His legs were trembling, but he took a small step towards her. “Did you,” he pressed in a light voice.

“ _Get out._ ”

He blinked. “What?”

“ _Get out,_ ” she cried, and she took a threatening step towards him, “and _never_ show your face around here ever again!”

It was a strange feeling that overcame Hiro then. He couldn’t quite describe it. Fear was holding him together, and yet he felt released from it.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said evenly, and he took another step forward, and another and another, dragging his feet like he were on a ball and chain, like he was crossing a pool of thick sludge and mud and gunk. He was getting close to her, and every nerve just _reeled_ in response, but he pushed through it. “I want you to tell me what you did to him.”

“I didn’t do _anything_ to him!”

“Stop lying.”

“Why would I’ve abused the _son of the man I was betrothed to._ ”

“Because you couldn’t stop yourself.”

He was as close as he dared to be now, which was close enough for her to just reach up and strike him. Every instinct of his was screaming at him to _leave,_ and he trembled with it. She stared back at him, her eyes darting between the two of his, trying to read his expression. There was a kind of hardened confusion to her, but also she looked…

_Afraid?_

She backed up, sliding along the counter edge, away from him. He followed her. “What are you doing,” she growled.

“Tell me what you did to him.”

“I _did_ tell you – I did absolutely _nothing._ ”

“No.” Hiro wasn’t going to accept that answer. Because he couldn’t accept the alternative. “No, you _hurt_ him. You had him all alone to yourself for weeks– you had _more_ than enough opportunities to corner him and isolate him and feed him your _disgusting_ cakes and do all kinds of nasty things to him. That’s what you do. That’s what you’ve _always done._ ”

She was still cautiously backing away from him, and he was still unhurriedly pursuing her. The resentment in her eyes was growing defensive, frantic. She was like a cornered animal.

“You never changed. All you do is hurt people. And you just keep on hurting them – _long_ after they’ve escaped the likes of you. No– you don’t just hurt people, you _ruin them.”_

_You ruin me._

“If _this_ is how you act now then I’m tempted to believe it,” she snarled back. She put out her hand to stop him from coming any closer, and Hiro ran his shoulder into it, the skin beneath her touch tensing and _crawling._ She pushed him away but it was such a pathetic effort that he barely stumbled. “ _Stay away from me,”_ she demanded.

Hiro paused. He didn’t understand. She was angry, wasn’t she? Here he was, in the flesh, the boy who’d sabotaged her chance at a fresh start and a new life before it had even begun, in a room alone with her, and she was still holding back? Why wasn’t she hitting him? Why wasn’t she proving herself to be the monster he _knew_ she was?

“Hit me,” he whispered, and her eyes opened wide. “Hit me,” he said again, louder. “Do it, just… fucking _hit me._ You know you want to.”

“You’ve really lost it, haven’t you,” she breathed, terrified. “You’ve really gone off the deep end.”

_“Hit me.”_

He took one confident stride forward, and then she was holding a frying pan above her head, poised to strike. Her fingers clutched tight at the greasy handle. She was shaking. _Yes,_ he thought, forcing himself to edge closer, _yes, yes, yes._

“Do it,” he said. “Don’t hold back.” _Maybe hold back a little._

“If you don’t get out of my house right now then I’m calling the police,” she rushed out in one breath. “I mean it.”

“Really.” Hiro felt himself smile, and the answering _horror_ that just mounted on her face made him feel _good_. His voice wasn’t even shaking anymore as he continued, “You’d call the police? On me? And tell them what. That one of your victims paid you a visit and now you’re threatening to conk them out with a frying pan?”

_“You’re threatening ME.”_

Hiro raised an eyebrow and cocked his head at her. He stared at her like she was crazy. “Why would I hurt you? _I’m_ not the abuser here – _you are._ ”

_“I am not an abuser.”_

“Yes, you _are,_ ” he insisted, frustration cracking his voice on the last word. He cleared his throat. “You _are_ an abuser. A sexual offender, an emotional manipulator. You’re a monster. You’re so horrible that you won’t even _admit it–_ you just go on _denying it_ and turning it all around to make it seem like it wasn’t even your fault, like it wasn’t even _real.”_

 _Sounds familiar,_ he heard a voice in his head say and he fought back a shudder. _Don’t do this._

 _“Hit me,”_ he sharply commanded her again, and she flinched. Like she really was afraid of him.

The sudden rush of hate was so _intense_ ; he grabbed her arm – that’s when she started screaming – and tried to pull the frying pan to his head, to get her to hurt him, to leave – her screaming was loud, her thrashing was worse – clear visible marks, for the physical pain to catch up to the rest of the emotional pain she’d bequeathed him and everyone else she touched, years and years ago. It never stopped.

_“Hit me! Hurt me! Fucking kill me!”_

The pan flew from her hand, clattering hard and metallic to the kitchen floor. He stared at it, feeling shock spread through him, and those few short seconds were all she needed to get out from under him and flee the room. He saw her hurriedly descend the stairs, gasping and snivelling, and he wondered darkly if he would’ve had enough time to rush over there and push her down the rest of the way, if she was in such a hurry.

_That was too far._

He sank to his knees and bent forward and clutched his hands to his face, and it took _so much effort_ not to claw his skin right off his skull. He wanted to blame it all on her – just _everything_ that he’d ever said and done, every mistake and fuck-up he’d ever made – but he wasn’t even sure if he could anymore. He didn’t know how responsible she was.

He didn’t like this side of himself. This side that he didn’t even know had existed. It was ugly. It was… _abusive._ It was terrifying. It was out of control, doing whatever it could to feel safe again.

_Maybe I am an abuser…_

His face screwed up tight. He trembled as short, stifled, cut-off cries bubbled up his throat, but they stopped when he heard some people ascend the stairs. He lurched to his feet and, seeing that none of them were Cass, he charged through them, back down the stairs. They followed; they called him Sir and asked him in firm tones to leave the house at once and informed him that he was from here on out banned from the café, but Hiro didn’t acknowledge he’d even heard them speak. He just crossed the room and burst out the door and _breathed._

He spent the rest of the afternoon leaning over his knees on a park bench, staring at the dirt beneath his new black dress shoes, a voice in head going, _stupid, stupid, you’re so stupid, you’re the stupidest person who ever had the misfortune to live, you’re so stupid,_ while he perfunctorily nodded, not even contesting it, just agreeing.

It was one of the most terrifying things he’d ever experienced. Seeing himself – he didn’t even know if it was the first time – in the role of an abuser, no longer a victim. He didn’t even know.

And it terrified him some more.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Can I just say that you sweet, sweet commenters really make MY day, when you say that my quick updates make your day? Like... <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 to the max)

It wasn’t working. Pretending that nothing had happened just wasn’t working.

Despite his brother’s warning, Hiro still stayed in touch with Takahiro over the course of the next few weeks. The boy contacted him – it was _never_ the other way around – on what was eerily becoming almost a daily basis. Hiro responded to him somehow, between work and the sexual violence campaign and his new rigorously structured life, and it only ever encouraged Takahiro to send more and more emails back, even during what Hiro _definitely_ knew were school hours.

The emails were precious. They were heart-breaking. They revealed a lot more about the current state of Takahiro’s life that he seemed willing to openly admit to. Or maybe he just didn’t realise how _different_ he was now.

Sometimes, when Takahiro seemed to imply that he was having an _especially_ bad day, Hiro would cave in and meet his demands and see him in town. He acted happy to see him, keeping up a good enough façade. He would buy him ice cream and churros, like he used to, and maybe buy him some new clothes or browse for a new duffel bag, since his old one was nearing tatters, and Hiro would maybe take him to see a film or to an arcade for a few rounds of whatever he was in the mood for. He would do anything Takahiro wanted to do, go anywhere with him he wanted to go.

Hiro had to do it. He felt obligated, _deeply_ indebted. _Trapped_ … He often got the impression that Takahiro was lonely. The boy would casually mention, “I don’t have many friends,”and Hiro’s heart would just _sink_ because he thought he understood what that meant. It was code socially awkward pariahs like himself used, because outright admitting that he had absolutely no friends, or no one he could really talk to, just sounded so blunt and awful. Sad and pathetic. Hiro hadn’t ever really thought about it before, but… Takahiro had seemed like a pretty lonely kid back then too.

_Just like you were…_

It was tearing Hiro apart, slow and steady. He could see how his own behaviour was impacting Takahiro. His victim, maybe. He could see a younger version of himself in Takahiro and it _hurt._ Despite Hiro’s constant shut-downs, Takahiro never forgot about it – the possibility of his own abuse. He’d only stopped talking about it. The boy was… withdrawn, depressed, anxious, dependant, confused, isolated; he was almost everything Hiro had once been. At this stage it didn’t even matter anymore whether Takahiro had really been abused or not, or by whom; he was _genuinely feeling_ the effects of it. And that was a problem.

 _God_ , he thought. Even the ages matched up. Takahiro was almost eighteen. Hiro had been eighteen when Cass had sat him down and yelled at him until he’d cried that the abuse wasn’t _real_ and that he was just… Overreacting. Imagining things. Remembering it wrong.

_And now you’re doing the same thing to him…_

The worst part about seeing Takahiro was seeing the effects up close. He still bore heavy, dark circles under his eyes like he didn’t sleep right anymore. He still left his coat at home on rainy days, allowing his uniform to cling to his bony, undernourished frame. He still sometimes phased in and out of the conversation at random, not always there, not always responsive. He still showed off Ds and Fs like they didn’t really bother him at all.

That was the most troubling thing. The fact that Takahiro was failing school. He was _so close_ to finishing high school – he only had another couple of months left – and his grades had suddenly steeped from average to appalling to not attempted. It unnervingly reminded Hiro of when he himself had just _missed_ all the major requirements of his courses in the last year of his engineering degree. How things had just fallen apart on him all of a sudden, and he hadn’t even really noticed, much less cared. Takahiro had this look about him now that gave Hiro the impression that he was beyond caring too.

The kid was mostly smiles and a reserved kind of fun whenever Hiro was around. Takahiro let slip details about his miserable life here and there, but he never failed to laugh when Hiro sometimes jokingly called him _Baka-_ hiro. But Hiro suspected that as soon as the boy went back home, back to his empty house – his dad overseas once again – things were very different. Things might’ve been absolutely awful. But no matter how much Takahiro _pleaded_ with him to come to his house, Hiro still refused. He couldn’t cross that line. Even when Takahiro promised in quiet tones that no one would ever have to know about it, not even his dad, not even Tadashi, it just… _chilled_ Hiro to the bone. Right to his very core.

Hiro had to end it.

Something had to change.

\-------

Hiro didn’t just give a speech on the importance of children and other youths disclosing their sexual abuse that Saturday. He also found time to talk about the importance of adults – not just parents but _all_ adults – listening to disclosures of abuse, and to take them very seriously. To treat them as a low cost yet high gain scenario; that it was better to be safe than sorry. It was better to investigate a few immature children’s lies than it was to risk dismissing genuine cases of sexual abuse. It was important to _believe_ children, and to treat every confession or cause for concern as something to notice. Something to report.

It was so easy, when he was up in front of a rapt crowd. He was very confident at public speaking by now, regardless of the topic or his audience. He wasn’t thinking about any of that; his mind was always more focused on what information he needed to give, on keeping succinct and coherent and audible, on how to be sensitive, on how to make an impact. But once he was down from the stage, back in his chair between Lucy and Alice, listening to the next speaker thank Hiro and summarise all of his key points and _again_ reiterate just _how important it all was_ … It just…

The full force of just how much of a _fucking hypocrite_ he was slapped him in the face. And slapped him some more.

It didn’t stop slapping him.

He looked down at his lap where his hands fidgeted. He couldn’t meet the speaker’s thankful gaze. He couldn’t give a smile and a nod to show that he appreciated the acknowledgement. He barely even listened to how the next speaker added to his topic. Instead, he shakily reached for his phone.

There was another email from Takahiro, sitting pretty at the top of his inbox. It was rude, he knew; his own talk was done but the event wouldn’t end for at least another half-hour yet. But he couldn’t resist opening it.

_Hey…_

_I got invited to this random party this weekend. I don’t really get invited to anything. But I thought I should like… try one out? Dad’s not back until Tuesday so it’s not like he could stop me…_

_It’s at this girl’s place – I think her name’s Charlotte? People tell me she likes me. I don’t know if they’re just teasing or not though. Apparently she flirts with me a lot but I don’t really hear it. I thought we just talk normally but… I’ve never had a girlfriend before so I wouldn’t know. Dad always said I should focus more on my studies than girls, and I do, but… I don’t know… I kind of want to go. I think there’s gonna be drinks there. I’m still 17 but most of my class is 18 so they probably don’t know… I’ve never been drunk before. I think it could be fun… What do you think?_

_Um get back to me whenever… I know you’re real busy. It’s OK. Don’t worry about me._

_Hope you’re well…_

_\- Taka_

“Hiro?” Lucy gingerly put a hand on his arm and he jerked away from it. She could’ve been anyone. “Hiro, are you OK?”

“You’re shaking like a leaf,” Alice agreed in a whisper.

Hiro couldn’t breathe. “I-I…” _I need to get out of here._ “I-I have to go,” he mumbled, rising up out of his chair.

Lucy stood with him, “Do you need me to–“

“No…” He tripped, pitching forward for a half-second – several hands rose up to steady him and he held up his own defensively, warding them off. “No, I… just need to…”

But he’d already broken away from the seated crowd. No one could hear him. He walked – away from the rows of eager supporters, from the stage, from the banners, from his friends, from everything. He could hear the current speaker’s passionate speech reverberate across the green field, all around him. It was surreal. It was dysphoric.

His dazed walk became a light run. His light run broke into a sprint. He didn’t know where he was running to _._ He ran until his legs gave out, and he didn’t stop until he was sure the taut pressure building up and up and up in his chest _wasn’t_ going to result in _screaming_.

He spotted a small public bathroom and made a sharp swerve towards it. His feet came to a grinding _halt_ inside the men’s, and he leaned his head far over the grimy sinks, _gasping_ for breath, the wheezing pain hot in his throat. His screwed his eyes shut, squeezing the tears out, and he hoped like hell that no one else was in there, that no one else was going to walk in and see him fall apart right in the middle of the day and ask him to explain why. He must’ve looked scary. He _sounded_ scary. It couldn’t have been a very nice thing to stumble upon.

He glared up at his trembling, rasping reflection. He considered ramming into it and indenting the most beautiful spiderweb-cracked pattern with his forehead, but a voice that was unmistakably his brother’s scolded him for even thinking about it. _You ought to take better care of that big brain of yours, knucklehead,_ he’d say, probably. Joking and yet not joking. _I’d kill you if you ever hurt yourself._

_Tadashi…_

Tadashi would understand. Right? Tadashi would believe him when he said he’d never meant to hurt anyone. Right? Tadashi would give him the benefit of the doubt. Right? Tadashi would have mercy on him, like he’d once had mercy on Aunt Cass. Right? Tadashi would help him fix this mess...

Right?

He was still clutching his phone in one hand. He held it up. He’d cracked the screen at some point and he ran his thumb over the cuts idly. It still worked. It was just a little broken on the surface, that’s all. It still called his brother when he asked it to, and he could still hear his brother’s voice just fine when he picked up several long, heart-stopping rings later.

_“Hello?”_

That was it. That was all it took. He only had to hear his big brother’s friendly voice once for the barrage to break apart. His first words to Tadashi weren’t even words at all; just hideous, gasping, sobbing wet noises that vaguely resembled the syllables of his brother’s name: _Ta-da-shi._ And then just _‘Da-shi._ A name Hiro hadn’t called his brother since he was still a little boy. A name that Tadashi immediately recognised from their childhood as a sign that something was wrong.

 _“Hiro–“_ Tadashi’s voice flooded instantaneously with distress; he was choking with it. _“What is it, what’s wrong?”_

It took a few moments for Hiro to speak. He ran the back of his free hand over his face, over and over, but it was like trying to wipe away rainwater. Utterly futile. He could just _hear_ his anxious brother want to reach right through the phone and give him a big, comforting hug.

And it was making him worse.

“Y-you love me,” Hiro rasped out, “d-don’t you?”

 _“Oh, Hiro…”_ His brother’s voice was so full of woe. _“Of course–_ of course _I love you. I love you with every fibre of my being.”_

_Please be true._

“W-Would you still…” Hiro bit down on his quivering lip. He had to go on. He _had to._ It stung and it burned and it ached and he wanted it to end, and the only way it would was if he _went on._ He inhaled with a shudder. “Would you still l-love me… even if I… d-did something h-horrible?”

Tadashi paused. _“Hiro, what do you mean,”_ he asked, cautious and fretful. Concerned. Conditional. _“What happened?”_

“I…”

He swallowed hard, his throat sore. He gazed up at his _wreck_ of a reflection and a voice in his head said with a resoluteness that surprised even him, _You are breaking this cycle. You are not going to be Takahiro’s Aunt Cass anymore. He is not going to suffer in the same ways that you did. You are going to be brave and face your fear and take some responsibility and set things right because this has gone on long enough._

 _“Hiro?”_ It was just a quiet plea. _“Hiro, I’m here. Please talk to me – tell me what happened.”_

This was it. The point of no return.

“’Dashi, I… I-I think I… did something horrible…”


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, I'm sorry, I couldn't wait .-. I've already written the next few chaps out soooooo why wait! Why hold them back? Updates now come out every twelve hours...????
> 
> As always, commenters give me strength <3 you're all so wonderful - thank you

On the way to Tadashi’s house, Hiro kept his head low. People would sit next to him, only to move away a few seconds later. But he didn’t care if he was making them uncomfortable. The only thing he could think to do to keep _sane_ was to nip at the sensitive skin on his palms with his fingernails, on one hand and then the other. It was painful, but the distraction brought a kind of… relief. A strange reassurance, when nothing else could reassure him.

By the time he’d ridden the tram all the way to his brother’s home, the flesh of his palms were covered in an angry red pincer-marks. Large rashes enveloped them. Like stigmata, kind of. Pain just radiated out from them, hot and tingly and numb. His hands felt a thousand times bigger than they really were, slicing through the cool air of the afternoon.

He approached his brother’s front door. He didn’t bother to knock; he already knew it was open and waiting for his arrival. His hand _burned_ on the door handle as he twisted it open and pushed...

The second he walked over the threshold, there was a blur in front of his teary eyes and then there were warm arms around him, his face pressed gentle into a merino shirt that just smelled like _Tadashi_. It was enough to push a few more weak sobs out of him as he clung to his brother in a desperate, helpless way he hadn’t done in a _long_ time, and it was all Tadashi could do to murmur his name over and over again, between small shushes and sorrowful little moans.

_I’m that bad, huh._

Some part of Tadashi must’ve loved it, surely. He must’ve loved being there for his inconsolable little brother when he needed him most. He must’ve. He never got sick of this, no matter how old they both got. They could’ve been spending their days in the same retirement village and it _still_ would’ve happened every few years or so.

Of course, they’d probably still get into stupid fights too.

For now Tadashi seemed to have forgotten all about their latest one. He didn’t hold anything back, just as Hiro wasn’t holding anything back. He brought Hiro out from his shirt, holding either side of his face, and just looked at him. He grimaced, he made more saddened noises. It occurred to Hiro that his older brother probably hadn’t seen him look this upset in a while, which was kind of funny considering Hiro cried like this at least once every week now.

“You should’ve let me pick you up,” Tadashi insisted, almost like he was telling him off, but there was no heart behind it. Just overwhelming concern. “I would’ve done it in a heartbeat.”

Hiro raised a hand to hold it over one of his brother’s, a tiny smile on his face. He felt so cared for. A part of him wanted to say, _enjoy it while it lasts._

“Did someone hurt you?” Tadashi asked, and Hiro felt his face fall. “D-Did I mishear you, on the phone? It sounded like you said… you’d done something horrible.”

Hiro nodded. Tadashi made a face like he wished it wasn’t true. Like this wasn’t his baby brother standing before him.

“What did you do?”

Hiro rubbed the wet wobble out of his eyes so he could better see his surroundings. There was no sign of Tadashi’s live-in partner but still he asked, “Mei?”

“She’s at work.” Tadashi gently turned Hiro’s face so it was back on him. “She won’t be home until later tonight. OK?” He moved his thumb just under his younger brother’s eye as he shed another tear. His voice was a sincere promise. “No one will interrupt us. You can tell me what happened.”

It took Hiro a long time to start moving again. Tadashi had to be the one to lead him across the living room and sit him down on the couch. He kept softly insisting, “You can tell me, Hiro,” and, “I’ll still love you, Hiro,” and, “It’s just me here, Hiro,” as if these things were supposed to coax the truth out of him any faster. But he needed time. He’d had over a month to say _something– anything,_ and still he needed more time.

Eventually Tadashi got tired of waiting and attempted to read him. To guess what kind of occurrence would merit this kind of reaction, from someone he’d known his entire life.

He was in the ballpark from the very first tentative question. “Did you hurt someone?”

Hiro shrugged. He didn’t want to play twenty questions like this; he didn’t want to draw it out. He just wanted to _say_ it, and get it over and done with, and make his brother understand that it _wasn’t his fault–_

“What does that shrug mean,” Tadashi asked quietly. “You don’t know if you hurt someone?”

“Y-Yeah,” Hiro breathed. His heart was pounding. He stared dead ahead of himself, at anything but his brother’s careful, unyielding gaze. “But… not recently.”

“Not recently?” His brother titled his head with a jerk, confused. “In the past?”

“Yeah…” He sniffed. “E-Eight… or nine years ago?”

Hiro peeked at his brother, just out the corner of his eye. That specific length of time ago didn’t seem to ring any bells. Not in the same way it did for Hiro.

“So what happened eight or nine years ago?” Tadashi asked. “Who did you hurt?”

Hiro stayed silent and still. His mind tried to bail, it was _screaming_ , _No – I can’t do this, I can’t do it, not like this, I can’t just SAY IT like that, he wouldn’t understand, he wouldn’t–_

“Hiro?”

“ _Look_ , b-before I say anything else,” Hiro croaked, his voice competing with tears, “You have to know that… _‘Dashi,”_ he begged for his understanding, “everything was _shit_ and this was the worsttime of my _fucking_ _life, I–_ I’d never felt _so…_ even back when Cass was doing all those things, like… this _wasn’t…_ ” He couldn’t find the words. He couldn’t find the words to describe how just little he had once cared whether he lived or died.

He breathed shakily and his brother’s hand came up to rub his back, slow and soothing. “It’s OK, Hiro,” he promised. “It’s OK… Take your time.”

If Hiro did that then they’d never get anywhere. He’d never say anything. He had to go on.

“I-I… I was eighteen. Right? I’d just turned eighteen back then, and… Cass was just...” He gave a helpless little shrug, “ _back._ Y-You pushed me into seeing her, and I didn’t like it, and I moved away for a while… I was on my own– _really_ on my own, for the first time. And I thought it would be OK but, my life just seemed to fall apart. You didn’t see how bad I was until I…” He stared at his hands. They still bore red blotches in the centre of his palms. He laughed haltingly, “Y-Yeah, wasn’t that just _great_ – a-as if _one_ rapist wasn’t fucking enough, r-right? _Hah._ ”

He paused, like he were actually expecting his brother to respond, but of course he didn’t. The only response Tadashi gave was an even slower, more melancholic back rub.

“And…” He sniffed. Tadashi handed him some tissues and Hiro accepted some. “And… That night, I…” Hiro looked down at the tissue in his hands and squeezed it into a tight ball. “Well, I went to your place, didn’t I… but not to see you.”

Pressed into his side, Hiro could feel Tadashi’s body tighten. Like he had some sort of an idea now. Like he could see where this was all heading.

The hand on Hiro’s back had stopped moving. The urge to cry _wrecked_ right through him.

“Takahiro was there,” he forced the words out, as clear as he could, and he just had to hope they were clear enough that Tadashi would never ask him to repeat himself. “He w-was staying with you, remember? In my old bed… A-And-d, I-I snuck _in, an’…_ ” He broke out in tears and blubbers again. His body and his heart and his head _ached_ with them. He felt dizzy and sick and _guilty_ as he finally said, “ _I think I molested him.”_

Tadashi made no move to console him. The hand on Hiro’s back fell away.

“But,” he murmured after a few long moments, low and uncertain, “You told me that… I asked you, back then, and you said that… nothing had happened…”

Hiro felt Tadashi shift – to shuffle away, to take back his arm, to adjust his legs – and Hiro fell forward into his hands, wretched and worthless. His eyes were covered but his mouth wasn’t as he cried, “I don’t _know, ‘Dashi_. I-I _didn’t_ think that anything had happened at the time, but… He… He _thinks something happened to him._ ”

There was a tremor to Tadashi’s voice now too. “H-He thinks you…?”

Hiro shook his head. “Not me,” he gasped, snivelling. _God_ , where were the tissues. “He doesn’t remember who… He thinks Cass did it. Because he’s been to my seminars, because… because of all the shit I _said_ about her, and he thinks it’s _her,_ and– it fucking _could_ be her, _that’s the thing, but…_ ” He whimpered. “I don’t know, ‘Dash, I… this is all so _fucked up_ and, I couldn’t keep doing it – I couldn’t keep _seeing_ him and pretending nothing was wrong and– _please, I need…_ ” He breathed hard. His fingers curled into his hair and just _pulled._ “I-I don’t know what to do…”

He stayed there for as long as he needed to, for as long as it took Tadashi to come out of his shock. He didn’t know exactly how long that was. To Hiro, it was a small and torturous eternity, but it may well have only been a couple of minutes. Eventually he felt his brother stand up from the couch and Hiro just _crumbled,_ thinking, _yeah, I fucking deserved that – I deserve all of it, I don’t deserve to be helped, I don’t ever recover from this, I’m never going to be the same again, I ruined it all and now it’s over – everything normal I ever had is now over and it’s my fault._

Tadashi was still there, hovering over him. Hiro wondered if his brother was going to hurt him, and a sick part of him wished that he just would, but Tadashi didn’t even sound _mad_ when he at last uttered his name – instead it was doleful, it was grieving. Hiro flinched as something touched the top of his head and it slowly turned into the soft pressure of his brother’s pitying hand.

“Oh Hiro,” Tadashi said. His voice was so small. “How do you know if you did it?”

Hiro shook his head, still hidden beneath his hands. “It feels real,” he grated out. “It feels so… me and Taka, we…” _It feels real._

“But I don’t understand… you brought him to me,” Tadashi protested lightly, “when you wanted him to say that Aunt Cass had abused him… He’d said that nothing had happened. I don’t…?”

“He told me later,” Hiro admitted. “He told me that he rememberedth- _things_ – he remembered _me,_ only he doesn’t know it’s me, and… _fuck,_ just– the way he described everything, ‘Dashi,” he sobbed. “It’s like… I’m this _beast_ from his nightmares. I’m a _monster._ O-Oh _God._ ” The realisation just _crushed_ him, heightening his cries, quaking right through him. “ _I’m like her.”_

“Who?”

“Who _else?”_ he choked, “I’m just like _Cass.”_

The fingers on Hiro’s head pressed down a little. “Hiro, no,” Tadashi murmured. “No, you’re not.”

“I _am –_ I _fucking am._ ”

Tadashi was kneeling in front of him now, his hands on Hiro’s head, gently trying to pull him up, but Hiro couldn’t help him. He couldn’t come out ever again. “Hiro, you don’t even know if it happened,” Tadashi insisted with a desperate edge. “Maybe _nothing_ happened. M-Maybe you’re just… _supposing_ things, without sufficient evidence–”

“’Dashi…” Hiro dropped one shaking hand from his face to fist in Tadashi’s shirt, the other moving to compensate for the lost cover. He sniffed. “Y-You don’t understand… He… He _told me_ that he thought something had happened to him, _and I…_ I told him it _wasn’t real.”_

And there it was. His ultimate unforgiveable mistake.

“I-I told him to _forget about it,_ o-or I blamed it on Cass, or I said that it wasn’t worth telling anyone… Not worth talking about it… That it was just _false memories…_ And, you know what it did? It made him… so much _fucking worse._ I still see him and talk to him he’s _so_ …” He shook his head. He couldn’t even begin to describe it. “He’s not _himself._ He’s different. I… I _messed him up,_ just like Cass did to me, a-and I can’t fucking _take it anymore_. I don’t _wanna be like her.”_

It was a miracle he and his brother were still having this conversation. He was crying so hard that it hurt just to breathe, and Tadashi still seemed like he could only respond in short bursts between large pauses, like the shock had yet to wear off. Neither of them were doing too good. They’d been through a lot together, the two of them. But this was…

This was very different.

“You should tell him,” Tadashi finally breathed. “You have to tell Takahiro about this.”

The mere thought made Hiro’s insides squirm; he felt like his stomach were crawling with big, fat _worms,_ and it made him feel like he was gonna be sick. _Tell Takahiro, come clean, clear your conscience…_

“He’ll hate me,” Hiro whimpered, and it wasn’t a protest or an excuse – it was just a supposition. An indisputably probable one. “He says we’re _friends,_ and he _trusts me, and–“_

Tadashi wasn’t so kind this time; his hands were rough as he pulled Hiro’s head up to look him in the eye. It broke Hiro’s heart to see that there were little tears there too, and again the thought ran marathons through his head: _I’ve_ _ruined everything, I’ve ruined everything, I’ve ruined everything._

“You _have_ to do it,” his older brother said, and it was so stern. So convinced. “Maybe it’ll jog his memory. Maybe you’ll both find an answer.”

_That’s what I want._

_That’s what I’m afraid of…_

All of those underlying emotions – all of the anxiety and the guilt and the _fear_ and the confusion and the disgust and the self- _hate_ that he tried to repress – they were all bubbling to the surface. The crushing weight was lifting. The rot was getting cut out in the most _excruciating_ way, and his brother was right there with him, holding him still, wiping his tears, telling him in calming, firm tones _exactly_ what he needed to do to be whole again. To feel like a decent human being. To make Takahiro better.

“Listen to me,” Tadashi said, his eyes never leaving his younger brother’s. They seemed to say, _I’m not giving up on you. I’m not walking out. You’re not alone._ “What you did was… _wrong._ Whether you abused that boy or not… denying that anything had happened, when he _told you_ he thought something _did_ … _That was wrong_.It had consequences… But, you’re already _so_ different to Aunt Cass, Hiro, because you _recognised that,_ ” he insisted, soothing hands working their way down Hiro’s tear-stained cheeks. “You saw that your actions were hurting Takahiro and now you’re going to _stop._ You’re going to _change,_ aren’t you?You’re not a bad person, Hiro. People can do bad things but that doesn’t necessarily make them bad people _…_ They can be redeemed, if they try. It’s possible. It’s not too late.”

Hiro _so_ wanted to believe everything Tadashi was telling him. But it all sounded far too good to be true. He’d half-expected right from the start for Tadashi to just agree with him that he was a monster, and proceed to break off all further contact with him immediately. To shut him out forever. And then what would Hiro have done?

Something in his face must’ve betrayed his thoughts because the next thing he knew, Tadashi was leaning forward and curling his arms around his younger brother.

Hiro clutched him back, holding onto him for dear life. “I’m sorry _,_ ” he sobbed. “I’m… m’so _sorry_.”

He felt his older brother swallow against his shoulder, where his neck was resting. Tadashi uttered into the quiet room, “I’m not the one you need to apologise to…”

There was something about those words that just chilled him.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gotta run - here!!!!

Tadashi had to be the one to call Takahiro. Hiro was still in no state to do it himself. He had a good hour to kill before Takahiro came over and he used that time anyway he could to try to calm himself down. He had a bath, he had some tea, he tinkered with bots, he played on his brother’s gaming laptop, but nothing seemed to work. He wasn’t calming down, little by little, as he should’ve been. He was just tensing up. And up. And up and up and _up and up and UP AND–_

His hands were shaking that bad; Tadashi must’ve heard the pill bottle rattling, even from his workshop down the corridor. Tadashi burst into the guest bathroom unannounced and knocked the mysterious pills out of Hiro’s hands. He grabbed the bottle and wouldn’t let Hiro have any more until he explained what they were, where did he get them from, what he was _doing with them._ He demanded to know which psychiatrist had prescribed them but Hiro didn’t have an answer for him. Hiro was forced to admit that he’d been back on anti-anxiety medication for a few weeks now, maybe a month, he didn’t know, and a grim look entered Tadashi’s face.

Hiro knew he was disappointed, maybe even scared, but he didn’t care. He was handling things. He held out his hand and asked for the bottle to be returned to him, to which Tadashi just shook his head incredulously. He left the bathroom, taking his brother with him, and sat Hiro in front of a complex circuitry problem. It’d distracted Hiro long enough for him to realise all too late that Tadashi had hidden the bottle. Just the thought of not having his pills on him anymore, when he needed them _most,_ made the anxiety unbearable.

But of course that wasn’t the real reason why his heart was pounding and his breaths were short and quick. It was the anticipation. It was waiting for Takahiro to finish up school and find Tadashi’s address and come through the door and…

Finally understand who the beast from his nightmares was.

Despite his many efforts, he was still tense when Takahiro walked in. He’d half-hoped that the tension would ease once Takahiro had arrived, but it didn’t. He gave a stiff, “Hello” after his brother’s formal greeting. He’d stopped crying – mostly – but his eyes were probably still mottled red and puffy; he could tell from the way Takahiro seemed to stare longer at him than he did at Tadashi.

The very first thing Takahiro said to either of them was, “Am I in trouble?”

Hiro made a noise like someone had knocked the very breath out of him, and Tadashi had to be the one to smile and softly assure him, “No, Taka-kun, you’re not in any trouble. Hiro and I would just like to talk to you.”

Hiro could see it in that boy’s face, how daunting those words were. _Just like to talk to you._ Takahiro looked scared. He bordered on petrified, what with the way Tadashi was trying to get him to discard his bag and shuffle across the living room. Hiro was already sitting down, on the couch, and Takahiro looked like he wanted to take the empty seat beside him, but Tadashi directed him into a cushy armchair instead. It sat just across from the couch, squarely facing it, just a coffee table with mugs of fresh tea and old interior design magazines Mei liked to read every now and again. Hiro found it easier to stare at them than he did to stare at Takahiro.

“Hiro?” the boy asked quietly when Tadashi had just stepped out of the room to bring them some snacks. Hiro found his gaze flitting up to him. Takahiro’s face was almost dejected. “I am in trouble... Aren’t I.”

_He probably means the party…_

Hiro put his face in his hands and _begged_ his body to stop doing this, to stop trying to cry with _every_ single, fleeting emotion that overcame him. Where was Tadashi? He needed his brother back here with him, right now. He _needed him._

Tadashi came back with sweet bean-paste buns that no one touched. He took a seat beside his brother and Hiro felt a tap on his arm – like a wordless order to straighten up, to swallow it back, to come back out and look Takahiro in the eye. They were supposed to be making their guest comfortable but Hiro doubted either of them were doing a very good job of it; the boy sat, perched and taut and rigid, like his chair were made of spikes.

For a while, nobody said anything. They sat in a deafening silence, blowing on their hot teas, glancing up occasionally only to glance away again. It was agonising. It got to the point where Hiro wished _someone_ would say _anything_. He finally heard Tadashi draw a breath, preparing to speak, but Takahiro beat him to it.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No, Taka-kun,” Tadashi sighed. “Nothing like that.”

“Then what’s wrong,” the boy asked, and Hiro wondered if he might’ve been sitting on his hands because they were shaking. “No one’s saying anything. You said you wanted to ‘talk’ so why aren’t you?” He turned his nervous gaze onto Hiro then. “Why’ve you been crying?”

Hiro noticed his brother turn his head to him, and he looked back. Tadashi seemed to be wordlessly asking him something – something hesitant, something gentle and supportive and encouraging. _Can you speak now, or…?_

Hiro got it. Now was the time to… set things right. He leaned forward in his chair, shifting to get a little less uncomfortable than he was without success, and then he was staring into Takahiro’s wide, fearful eyes. Eyes that looked a lot like his own right now.

He cleared his throat. “Taka… kun.” He glanced at his brother. _Honorifics, honorifics, honorifics._ “I… I’m sorry. I lied to you.”

“Lied to me?” Takahiro stared like he didn’t understand. “About what?”

“About…” Hiro sucked in a deep breath and held it for a few seconds. He gently let it out and continued, “When you were younger, living with Cass… There’s a lot of stuff I didn’t tell you, or… maybe lied about. And… you need to know the truth.”

Takahiro didn’t respond. He stared indignant and unblinking at Hiro, then at Tadashi, then back to Hiro again, and he looked so fearsomely _small_ in that instant that Hiro considered ranking _this_ the hardest thing he’s ever had to do in his entire life, and there had been several. Confessing his own abuse had been hard, but confessing to his own victim was… a whole new level of difficulty.

But his brother was right here, his hand just a few inches away from his own. It was OK. It was going to be OK.

He stared at his lap for a few moments before looking back to Takahiro cautiously. “Do you remember the very first time we met?”

Takahiro started, “In the café–“

“No,” Hiro cut him off, shaking his head. “She– Cassgot you to deliver a letter to me at my residence in town. You were just… this _random_ kid, who appeared out of _nowhere_ , and you were so full of energy. You ran up to me and smiled like you already knew me. You wished me a happy birthday in Japanese and then you just… sprinted off, just like that.”

He paused to take in Takahiro’s expression but there was nothing yet – not a shred of understanding. If anything he looked even more confused, and Hiro gave a pained sigh.

“That letter you gave me was from Cass. She… wanted to make amends with me. This was about three or four years after she’d abused me and, all of a sudden, she remembered that I existed or something, and she wanted some kind of closure. I didn’t want to, but I still went back to her place, and when I went upstairs I saw you for the second time. You looked _so much_ like me when I was your age that it just… _terrified_ me. I had no idea who you were, or what you were doing there. I thought… I don’t know.”

He dropped his eyes a little. His body felt numb and it was making it easier to speak.

“I thought she was abusing you, like she’d abused me… People told me I was wrong – that Cass had changed, and I was being unfair and should’ve given her the benefit of the doubt, and… Maybe I should’ve. Maybe if I hadn’t been so distrustful then things might’ve been different, but… Anyway, my life just sort of… collapsed around me. And you were at the centre of it because, I just kept on thinking to myself that if I could _save_ _you_ from her, then I could… I don’t know. Validate myself… Make myself feel better. If she was abusing _you,_ like I thought, then… I would be right, and she would be a monster, and maybe I’d have a better chance at putting her away where she couldn’t hurt anyone else anymore, most of all _me._ ”

He looked between Takahiro and Tadashi. They seemed to be with him so far. They seemed to be listening. Hiro couldn’t remember saying anything this personal even to his own brother before, but he went on.

“People got worried about me. I did… some really suspicious stuff – stuff that everyone but me could see was bordering on _creepy_ and obsessive. I snuck into your room – my old bedroom – when no one else knew I was there, and I hung out with you. I set you up with an email account, and you sent me so much _spam,_ ” he chanced a small laugh, “but it was there so that you could contact me if anyone ever hurt you, which I thought would happen. And I did other stuff I only realised later was really wrong too. I took you out of your home, and you got into trouble because of me, and then _I_ got into trouble… I told you Cass was a witch. Do you remember that? I convinced you she was so evil that when you saw she’d made me cry, you… threw hot tea at her.”

Instantly Takahiro’s eyes widened and he shrunk down in his chair, looking a lot smaller than he really was. _“What,”_ he blurted.

“It’s true, Taka-kun,” Tadashi interjected. “I don’t know if your dad ever told you – he wasn’t there when it happened – but I saw it. She has some light scarring,” he added, his fingers brushing over his neck and chest to indicate the affected areas.

Takahiro’s mouth fell open a little. “I did that,” he whispered, horrified.

“No one holds it against you, Taka, _really,_ ” Hiro insisted. “Everyone blamed me for it because you wouldn’t have done that if I hadn’t… well, told you Cass was a witch. I just– I wasn’t a good influence on you. I told you to keep secrets from everyone. I was always asking if Cass had ever hurt you and, though you never said anything, I still chose to interpret that to mean you were too scared to tell anyone what was really going on… When, really, I probably just freaked you out. I just pushed and pushed for something that’d probably never even happened…”

His throat was sore. It was already still sore from all that crying earlier, and talking extensively wasn’t exactly helping. He paused to sip from his mug, giving Takahiro some time to take everything in and just _process,_ because he looked like he needed a little time. From beside him, Tadashi reached for his hand and squeezed it reassuringly. _You’re doing great,_ it seemed to say.

Now here came the hard part.

“So…” Takahiro wasn’t looking at Tadashi anymore. He only fixed Hiro with his icy, perplexed stare. His words were slow and wary. “Why are you telling me all of this?”

Hiro breathed out a loud, anxious sigh. He was tensing again, he could feel it, he was losing himself little by little to the fear – but another squeeze from Tadashi’s hand was enough to ground him. To keep him on point. He wouldn’t have even made it this far without his brother.

“Taka-kun, my life fell to _shit–“_

“Don’t swear.”

Hiro… scoffed. Unbelievable. Here they were, a minute away from professing potential child sexual abuse, and Tadashi still cared about whether young and impressionable ears were exposed to profanity?

“Sorry – my life turned to _crap,_ and I was so alienated from everyone that I genuinely believed that you – an _eight year old –_ were the only person in the world who still cared about me, who understood me. You were my only friend. An _eight year old._ When, really I just… manipulated you, and I’m _sorry._ They… uh, Cass, your dad, Tadashi – they all told me to stay away from you, and they deleted your email address, and… I tried to get help for you but no one would _listen to me._ Everyone thought I was _crazy,_ and I started to think it too. And I just felt so awful that… I ended up getting wastedat a party, and I went with the first person who showed me any affection… I wasn’t careful, and I got raped.”

He’d… just sort of said it, hadn’t he? No tact. No wonder Takahiro reacted the way that he did. Tadashi, too. Hiro couldn’t even hear them breathe, couldn’t even see their chests rise and fall – they were that silent and still. He coughed, feeling ashamed, and ran a hand up the back of his neck.

“That’s kinda why… I don’t want you to go to that party, by the way,” he murmured to Takahiro. “I read your email and… I don’t think you should.”

Tadashi was suddenly back with them. “What? What party?”

Hiro groaned. “Never _mind,_ Tadashi.”

Tadashi looked to Takahiro sharply. “You’re going to a party? With alcohol?”

 _“Tadashi.”_ Hiro yanked on his brother’s hand until he had his full attention. His eyes were wide and a little bit livid because he was _so close now_ and they were getting side-tracked. “Just _leave it,_ OK? We can talk about it later.”

Tadashi seemed to remember himself and he gave a single apologetic nod, turning his head away as if he only just now realised what was coming next. Hiro stared back at Takahiro and the boy just looked so _confused..._ But this was why Hiro was doing this. So he wouldn’t be confused anymore.

“I was in a dark place, Taka,” Hiro said, his voice just a little above a whisper. “I didn’t _know_ what to do… I felt like I couldn’t trust people anymore. I felt like anyone I could’ve reached out to for help would’ve just turned me away, like some of them had done already… I went for Tadashi’s place – we were living apart by then – because that’s where I knew you’d be, and I still had the key…” He took a deep breath and Takahiro seemed to join him. “T-To let myself in, and… Y-You were there. In my bed, and…”

He paused for a while. He stared hard at the boy and waited. He waited for the memories to hit either of them, for a flash of recognition or understandingor _something_ , but Takahiro’s face remained as blank as his did. Their minds empty. An absence of an objective truth.

_Maybe if he had more details…_

The lump in Hiro’s throat rolled with his dry swallow. It was time to keep going.

“You were sleeping, when I came in… I turned on the light, by the bedside table… I-I,” he slowly stood up and walked over to Takahiro. In response, the boy’s fingers fanned on the armrests and dug in, like claws. Hiro was standing over him now, and Takahiro glared up with a dangerous look. “I… So you wouldn’t make any noise, I put a hand over your mouth, like this…”

He did it, just lightly, just the ghost of a touch, and he stopped as soon as he heard his brother exclaim something like _“hey”_ from behind him. But Takahiro’s eyes began to light up with something like _remembrance,_ and Hiro could only wish that it was good things. Not bad things. _Please_ not bad things.

“I started to cry,” he continued, voice wobbling now. He was sure the look in his eyes was just as _distraught_ as Takahiro’s as it started to click what was happening. What had happened. As it was all coming together, like the most debauched jigsaw puzzle in all of human history. “I lay next to you. I’d been drinking a lot. You a-asked me what was wrong and, I said… _another witch got me.”_

Tadashi moaned sadly behind him, but Hiro didn’t acknowledge it. He was only focusing on Takahiro now, his eyes boring down into his… The boy stared up at him like he was seconds from death. He stared like he was actually _waiting for more,_ but mercifully – not so mercifully – that was the extent of Hiro’s memory.

“A-And the rest is just black for me,” he finished, and he swore he saw Takahiro’s shoulders lower just a fraction. “The next thing I remember is waking up to Tadashi _screaming_ at me… I-I thought I’d passed out, beside you, but… Taka, do– Taka-kun, do you…?” His tone was so tentative. So _careful._ So pleading. “Do you think that anything else happened, that night…? Like… was that your dream? That you described to me? Was I the…?”

He waited. And he waited some more. Every second that ticked past unanswered just made Hiro want to tear his hair out. He was staring at Takahiro, he was _right here,_ and he just wanted the boy to _say something,_ to _do something,_ to acknowledge that Hiro had even _spoken –_ but Takahiro just kept up the impossible stare with his wide, alert eyes. Like he had done when he was just a kid, and he was _still_ a kid, and… Hiro felt his breath hitch, felt his heart pump, felt his stomach _lurch–_

Tadashi was instantly beside him, an arm ready and waiting to catch him as he stumbled, falling against his brother, leaning on him for support. The room was spinning and he couldn’t feel his legs. Tadashi was speaking now, and going by the severity of his facial expression it must’ve been important, but it was _so hard_ all of a sudden to focus…

“… _to be honest,_ Taka-kun,” Tadashi was saying. “If you think that you were touched inappropriately, or… or you were hurt in any way, or anything else might’ve happened, you need to tell us. OK?”

Hiro jolted as he was placed back on the couch, and he didn’t quite know how he’d got there. It was like he’d just teleported from the armchair to the couch in an instant. A glass of something was pushed into his hands and pushed into his mouth, and the room still _swayed_ an awful lot, didn’t it, like it wasn’t really a room at all, but a carpeted lake, and the furniture were cosy, rocking rafts. There was a hand on his forehead, moving to his cheek, eventually coming to rest at his back in soothing big circles.

“Is he OK,” someone asked, and it took the longest time for Hiro to realise that they were talking about _him_.

“Hiro, lie down,” his brother said, and then he was tilting the world up like magic – Hiro was staring at the ceiling and he _panicked,_ quickly turning on his side to stare at the boy a few feet away from him. The boy was shivering – or maybe that was just him. A bucket appeared beneath him and Hiro was convinced for a moment that it was the presence of the _bucket itself_ that caused him to vomit. The sounds he made were just _wretched,_ and he was pulled back up into a halfway decent sitting position to better angle his upchucks.

It took another few minutes of what Hiro thought was dry retches to understand that he was crying again, and the thought of crying _again_ depressed the hell out of him. He _hated_ crying, yet he seemed to be doing it all the time now. It was horrible, it was painful. Tears and snot leaked from his too-hot, too-cold face and he pressed it into the crook of his elbow and– why was he wearing a blazer? He didn’t wear blazers, he wore hoodies. Where was his hoodie?

Some part of him was still in operation, distantly aware of how _embarrassing_ he was right now. How alarming this all must’ve been. He didn’t know what had happened. He’d been just fine – well, in the broadest sense of the word – one minute, and the next he was _feeling_ like the death Takahiro had so terrifyingly gazed upon. Was he going through withdrawal already? Was the stress of the situation and the ramifications of what he may or may not have _done_ – what he had in fact _just_ done –caving in on him? Was it both? Was it neither?

He reached out for someone – _anyone –_ and thankfully someone took his hand. They wrapped their hot fingers around it and _squeezed._

He wanted to complain that someone was making a _lot_ of noise, but he already knew it was him by now. Who else would it fucking be.

“It’s OK, Hiro,” his brother murmured, from quite close by, and it was both startling and calming. But mostly calming. His brother continued to murmur at him, just sweet and reassuring little nothings, “I’ve got you, buddy, I’m right here. Just breathe. You’re OK. You’re gonna be OK.”

“Will I,” he tried to say, but it probably sounded nothing like it did in his head, from the way he was immediately shooshed. He should’ve just kept his mouth shut to minimise the risk of looking even more pathetic and disgusting than he already did. Than he already was.

An indeterminable amount of time later – it could’ve been ten seconds, it could’ve been ten minutes, Hiro didn’t know – he felt something damp and cool move across his face. By then his body was twitching a lot less, his breathing was steadier, and he wasn’t making nearly as much noise as before, thank God. His brother whispered to him words that he could hear perfectly fine but couldn’t much care to parse right now. Maybe later. When he was less tired.

“I’m so proud of you, Hiro. I know this hurts – I know this feels awful, but you did it. You’re _so_ brave. It’ll get better now. I promise.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I would've just mass-dumped the chapters, I swear, but I had to at the very least look over them .-. this story and this series has gone on long enough and the end is SO CLOSE NOW I CAN FEEL IT but it's at least another three chapters away. I know I said the *exact* same thing several chapters ago but I'm completely certain now D: at least I hope I am...)
> 
> Some of you guys are crazily invested in this story like... woah <3 just woah

When Hiro awoke, he was lying on a bed he didn’t remember ever making it to. The sky was just beginning to darken. The window he was facing was wide open. The undrawn curtains wafted gently with a cool breeze that was rapidly becoming cold, despite the blankets over him. He heaved them off, getting to his feet, still feeling the painful effects of puking and _crying_ his heart out a few hours earlier. _God,_ did he have to… keep doing that? It wasn’t fun.

His head ached. A lot. He woozily got to his feet and stared at the bedside table. How like his brother to leave him tissues, a _clean_ bucket, more blankets, and some reading material. But it was the water he wanted, and he downed what was left for him so quickly – the cool relief it offered his _sore_ , hot throat only fleeting. He needed more. He needed a lot more.

He wandered out, following the lights, heading downstairs. He could smell some fish cooking that he _really_ wasn’t in the mood for, and he rounded through to the kitchen, jumping as he came face to face with the two of them, standing there, staring…

Only Tadashi smiled, but even then it was tentative. “Hey, how’re you feeling?” he asked.

“...Fine,” Hiro muttered, nervously turning his gaze onto Takahiro. There was something there on that boy’s face he could only class as unreadable. He felt compelled to apologise. “Um, sorry for… I don’t even know what happened,” he admitted in an ashamed voice, running a hand through his hair. He felt so embarrassed. Doing that kind of thing in front of his brother was _OK_ , but in front of _Takahiro_ was just too much to process. He’d already put the kid through enough.

Takahiro was stiff. “It was… scary,” he said, turning his head to the side. “I really wanted to talk to you straight after too…”

_Then why didn’t you fucking talk to me when you had the chance?_

Hiro pinched himself so sharply on the arm that he winced, because he needed that. “Sorry,” he said again, more apologetic. “I-I’m fine now. I can talk… You don’t, have to go easy on me or anything,” he tried to smile, “I can take anything you have to say to me.”

“Good,” Takahiro said, and it was just so dismissive and brusque that it made Hiro feel like he _really_ shouldn’t have been smiling. At all. If it were even possible, he’d should’ve gone back in time and taken it back.

“Hiro?”

Tadashi questioningly held up a pan of fried fish, and he only needed Hiro’s answering grimace to know that his brother wouldn’t have any. He divvied and dished them up into two plates and then they were all heading back into the living room, where some old television show Hiro didn’t recognise was playing quietly. He sat on the couch, sucking on a bottle of cold water, feeling tense, having absolutely _no_ idea what had gone on while he was still recovering from his panic attack or whatever _that_ had been, and it _freaked_ him out. He didn’t know whether he was supposed to be staring at the TV or not; his eyes flicked over to his brother and Takahiro, but they were both busy eating.

No one was talking, but no one was exactly watching the show either. Hiro decided that he was going to have to be the first to speak.

“Did you guys… talk?” he asked in a small voice.

“We didn’t want to talk without you,” Tadashi answered, smiling in a way that made Hiro think it was a lie; they must’ve talked at least a _little_ without him there. Surely.

Hiro followed Tadashi’s sidelong glance at Takahiro. So it was up to the boy to initiate the conversation now, huh. Well, of course it was. He was just going to have to wait, and he didn’t know how long for.

But Takahiro didn’t end up making him wait for too long.

“Why did you lie to me.”

Hiro looked at him. “You mean…? Uh–“

“Why did you tell me that nothing happened to me.” Takahiro’s voice was cold. He wasn’t looking anywhere near Hiro, his eyes always on the screen or his plate. “Why did you lie.”

Hiro shuddered. It was a fair enough question. It deserved an answer. He turned halfway between Takahiro and the screen, not sure which he should be looking at, because Takahiro still hadn’t faced him yet. No matter how many times he cleared his throat, no matter how much water he had, he still couldn’t get the croak out of his voice.

He just stopped trying after a while. “Taka-kun, I… I was _scared_ … I was stupid and selfish.” _No more excuses._ “I thought that I had to be perfect, you know? For the seminars and campaigning and all that… People just kept telling me how much _good_ I was doing, and how I was doing so _much_ for all of these male victims, giving them voices, but… It… I couldn’t risk… Some horrible part of me thought that it was necessary to silence you in order to do that. And I’m _sorry,_ Taka-kun,” his voice broke a little. “I’m _so sorry…_ ”

Takahiro had stopped eating. He’d barely made it through one fish before he ended up staring at it, his fork prodding at it, softly at first, then more and more vicious until he was practically stabbing it, prongs grating harsh against the plate. The sounds made everyone wince.

“Taka-kun.” Tadashi put aside his own meal and jumped up to pull Takahiro’s away. He kneeled beside him, hovering patiently, encouraging him to use his words. “Taka-kun, tell us what you’re thinking,” he asked gently. “Talk to us.”

“I… I _trusted you,”_ Takahiro said, flashing Hiro a look so betrayed that it made Hiro feel like he’d never forgive himself. There were tears in Takahiro’s eyes and Hiro was never going to forgive himself for this – not now, not ever. “You were my only friend, too… I trusted you and told you that something was wrong with me and you just… _ignored me._ ”

“I’m sorry,” Hiro uttered, and it sounded so _pathetic,_ not even coming close to the ocean of remorse he felt. But he didn’t know what else he could say. “I know, there’s no excuse, I’m sorry.”

He watched Tadashi move a hand across Takahiro’s back, but it was of little comfort to him. Tears dripped down his face and he wiped his shirt sleeve across his nose, sniffing, but he still carried a lot of resentment in his eyes. “After what you said to me at the library, I… I got so _messed up_.”

“Sorry.” He just kept saying it. He couldn’t stop. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“You are such a _hypocrite,”_ Takahiro suddenly shouted at him, and Hiro just sat there, taking it, because it was all true. “Y-You spend so much time helping other people but you wouldn’t even help me! You said in the seminar how _important_ it was to come forward and not stay silent and I _did,_ and you _silenced me!”_

Hiro put his head in his hands. There were no tears, no sobs, but he was crying just as hard on the inside. Every inch of him _hurt._ “Sorry.” His voice came out muffled.

“You _promised_ me when I was a kid that I could tell you _anything_ and _you’d believe me!”_

 _I know._ “I’m sorry…”

A heavy silence settled over them. Like Takahiro couldn’t quite believe him. And then Hiro heard something that made his heart splinter.

“I _hate you.”_

_I hate me too._

There was a scuffle, footfalls, rustling. Hiro peeked between his fingers to see Takahiro was already at the door, flinging his bag over his shoulder, stuffing his feet back into his shoes. Tadashi stood just behind him, begging Takahiro not to leave right now, that they could talk it out, with or without Hiro there, that they could go to a counsellor or a police officer or call his dad – whoever he needed to speak to – but Takahiro still ended up slamming the door on his way out.

Tadashi _fretted._ He looked between the closed front door and Hiro, shaking and breathing shallow, not even sure who to turn to, completely _stuck,_ until Hiro found enough of his voice to say, “You should go after him.” _Keep him safe. Help him._

Tadashi didn’t protest. He rushed over just to give his brother a quick embrace and a short kiss, panting, “I love you – I’ll come back as soon as I can,” and then Hiro was meekly pushing him away. Tadashi sprinted, pausing only to swipe his car keys, and then he was out the door with another loud _bang._ They were both gone now. Hiro was all alone.

He tried. He made an effort. His hands trembled as he fetched the barely touched plates of fish and put them in his brother’s fridge for later. He tried to clean the place up a little bit, just rinsing pans and chopping boards and knives and things, wiping down benches, trying not to think. Trying not to feel. He _hoped,_ and yet he didn’t even know what he was hoping for.

He eventually went back upstairs to the spare bedroom he’d been sleeping in. He laid down and wallowed in the empty feeling nestled deep in his gut. There was nothing else he could do now but wait for Tadashi to come back to him.

\-------

Hiro had no idea what time of day or night it was when he next awoke to a dip in the mattress beside his head and a nudge on his shoulder. He opened his eyes and shifted to see his brother sitting beside him, smiling weakly in the dim room. “Hey,” was all he said.

“Hey…” Hiro pulled himself up, gingerly rubbing the sleep out of his sore eyes. Everything was sore. He couldn’t quite tell if he’d gotten too little sleep or too much sleep today. Or perhaps it was yesterday. But he didn’t care about that. “Takahiro?”

Tadashi’s smile tightened. His tone was gentle. “He’s back home now.”

“How is he,” Hiro asked, his face probably the epitome of _don’t answer that – I already know what you’re going to say._

Tadashi sighed. “He… doesn’t want to see you. Or hear from you. He said not to bother emailing him because he blocked you.”

Hiro didn’t know what he expected. His heart sunk like a broken ship slowly consumed by water but he still gave a firm nod. “Fair enough,” he mumbled. “I wouldn’t want to see or hear from me either.”

Tadashi put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Maybe it’s temporary.”

“Or maybe it isn’t.” Hiro ran a hand down his tired face. “He said he _hated_ me, Tadashi… I’m surprised even _you_ don’t hate me.”

Tadashi laughed a little, just light and warming. “Hiro, I could _never_ hate you. You’re my brother. You’re _family._ Even if you somehow ended up in prison, I’d still visit you every weekend.”

It wasn’t until Hiro had blanched and his eyes had gone _huge_ that Tadashi realised what he’d just said.

“ _Prison?”_

Tadashi hastily tried to take it back, “Hiro, no, no,” he smoothed a hand over his brother’s head, over and over, “I’m sorry – that was stupid – you’re _not_ going to prison. It was just a stupid joke.”

Hiro hadn’t even thought about it – _really_ thought about it until now, and he was lucky that his body was too shot to produce anymore tears. “I should go to prison,” he said, and Tadashi made a face like he couldn’t believe the words that had come from his younger brother’s mouth. He was devastated.

“Hiro, we don’t even know if you _did_ anything,” he exclaimed quietly, and that gave Hiro some pause.

“…We don’t?”

“ _No._ I talked to him, while you were sleeping. He says he doesn’t remember anything beyond what you told him. He was inclined to think you might’ve… tampered with his memories, but…” He shrugged. “Nothing.”

“So…” Hiro stared hard at his brother. Tadashi seemed to be treating this as _good_ news, but Hiro just couldn’t see it that way anymore. “So after all that… we still don’t know if it was real or not.”

“No.”

_Then what was even the point?_

“I’ve asked him to speak to someone,” Tadashi assured as Hiro dropped back onto the pillow, burying his face in it. “To maybe consider seeing a psychotherapist who deals in the recovery of repressed traumatic memories, or maybe a school counsellor.”

“But then he’d end up talking about _me,”_ Hiro mumbled into the pillow, and Tadashi had to turn him over to hear him. “What if… mandatory reporting and… what if he makes allegations about me and _presses charges–“_

“Hiro,” Tadashi shushed him quietly, “Hiro, look, you _won’t_ go to prison. Not until people know about Aunt Cass first. OK? Not until they know about everything that happened to you. _Takahiro_ knows what happened to you, he _wouldn’t_ … At worst, you could be sentenced to attend some intimacy retraining therapy, or something like that. _But I doubt,”_ he started firmly, cutting Hiro off before he could even get a single word out, “it would ever get even that far. What’s most likely to happen is that… Taka-kun just won’t ever see or hear from you ever again.”

Something sort of like relief but not quite relief ran through him. He laughed humourlessly. “So… the Hiro Hamada approach to childhood sexual trauma, then…”

The conversation dwindled, but Tadashi never left. He stayed right there with him, every now and again offering to bring him a drink or some food or more blankets, but Hiro declined, not really wanting to spend even a minute without his brother’s calming presence and his comforting hand on his head. Tadashi wasn’t doing anything; he just staring off into space, lost in thought, when Hiro next spoke.

“I saw my rapist the other week.”

Tadashi frowned, confused. “Cass…?”

“No, the… the other one.” The fact that he even had to say ‘the other one’ was just depressing. “Her name’s Amanda… I was just waiting for a coffee on the street when I walked into her, and I fell. She apologised, she offered to help me up, and… I recognised her _immediately._ And she looked right at me but… she didn’t _recognise me_. A-And it just really shook me because… she didn’t remember what she did. She must’ve been that _drunk_ and it just made me worry that… maybe _I_ was so drunk that I didn’t remember either…”

Tadashi said nothing.

Hiro had to know. “Do you think I did it?” he whispered.

His brother very slowly grimaced _._ “I don’t want to believe it, Hiro. You don’t seem like that kind of person. But then…”

He didn’t have to say it. Hiro already knew where Tadashi was going with that sentence. _But then Cass didn’t seem like that kind of person either._

“I’m not like her anymore, right,” Hiro begged, and his brother smiled ruefully, nodding.

“That’s right. You’re not like her. Not anymore.”

“Tell me more about how I’m not like her anymore,” Hiro murmured. _Make me believe it._

“Well…” Tadashi heaved a sigh. He reclined back on one elbow, just thinking. “I think it’s the way you… just handled everything so much _better_ than she did. You silenced and manipulated Takahiro, like she once did to you, but… you _stopped._ You changed your mind. You _changed,_ Hiro, and that was something I realise now that she _never_ did. You didn’t keep up this mess for years and years like she did. You took some responsibility for your actions – even though you don’t know for sure whether they were _your_ actions, or…

“Look… No one would blame you nearly as much as they would her. What you did– _maybe_ did was one-off, what _she_ did was consistent. You had literally been sexually assaulted _that day_ and– _Hiro_ ,” Tadashi moaned, moving to stare into his younger brother’s forlorn, glazed over eyes, “there are just so many _things,_ Hiro – so many mitigating circumstances that you can’t even _see._ You can’t even see just how much this boy is affecting you. Aunt Cass _never_ reacted like this. She never cried when she saw the consequences of what she’d done to you. The pain in your eyes…” Tadashi took a moment to brush some of Hiro’s hair out of them. “She just kept _lying_ and denying all responsibility. That’s why she’s an awful person and you’re _not,_ Hiro. I _swear_ to you that you’re not.”

It was the nicest thing he could’ve heard from his brother right now. He _wanted_ to believe it. He really did. “None of that really matters though,” he said, “if he never forgives me…” _I never forgave her._

Tadashi sighed. “He just needs time,” he said, probably thinking he sounded more convincing than he really was. “Maybe things will be different soon.”

“Maybe not.”

“Mm…”

Another short silence. The fingers in Hiro’s hair felt nice. His eyelids began to feel heavy again, his blinks becoming a lot slower.

“You told him not to go to that party, right?” Hiro asked, earning a brief chuckle from Tadashi.

“Don’t worry. He won’t, not after the talk I gave him. I schooled him on staying safe at parties, and the importance of friends who knew where you were at all times, and at the very _least_ counting and pouring your own drinks if you couldn’t stay sober… He tried to tell me that I was talking to him like he was a girl.”

Hiro scoffed. But there was nothing funny about that. “I guess I just sort of… freaked out,” Hiro admitted in a low voice. “I just didn’t want him to end up like me.”

Tadashi’s hand stilled for a second before moving again. “I know, Hiro. I know... But he won’t. I’ll keep an eye on him.”

Hiro gave a long sigh, his eyes closing. “Above everything else… I just want this kid to be OK.”

The hand on his head fell away only to replaced seconds later by a short press of his brother’s lips. The mattress sprung up again as Tadashi got to his feet. Hiro opened one of his eyes to see that his brother was moving quietly towards the door; he must’ve thought Hiro was falling asleep. His replies had certainly been slowing down.

_Tell him. Tell him now._

He sat up. “Tadashi?”

His brother turned at the doorway, smiling pained. “Hm?”

Hiro stared at him. “If… If I took Cass to court, would you help me?”

Tadashi didn’t respond. His eyes were squinted and searching, like he were trying to gauge at a distance whether Hiro was serious or not. Eventually he said, as if there were no other answer he could give, “Of course I’d help you.”

“I have friends – from the organisation, I mean, who’ve been through the criminal justice system before,” Hiro explained. “I feel like I know a lot about how it works. And, I’ve talked enough about my abuse now that it shouldn’t feel any different than doing another seminar…” He paused, awaiting some sort of affirmative, supportive response from his brother. But none was very forthcoming. Tadashi was like a statue. “It’s not too late… right?”

He swallowed. Tadashi wasn’t saying anything. The deadpan look on his face felt like he were saying, _why bother,_ and Hiro found himself thinking that his once courageous idea was presenting it’s true face as a _stupid_ idea in disguise, fooling him. He wished he’d never even thought it.

“Forget it,” he tried to say, turning over, and only then did his brother seem to remember himself.

He uttered into the quiet of the room, “Hiro, if you want to press charges against Aunt Cass, then I’ll stand by you. I’ll be there every step of the way. Whatever you need.” He waited until Hiro peeked over his shoulder at him to smile plaintively. “I mean it,” he insisted gently, and Hiro suddenly felt like an idiot for ever doubting that he didn’t. His brother wasn’t like that anymore.

Just realising that made his chest start to swell with warmth.

Hiro smiled back, fighting a quiver in his lip. “You’re the best–” he got out, swallowing down the _big brother in the world_ part, fearing it would just be lost to sobs. He gave a nod as if to cement his point, and Tadashi racked in a couple of sobs, poorly passing them off as laughs.

“You’re OK,” he said, and the laughter became genuine.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends! I am sorry - twelve hour updates were fun while they lasted, huh? This is a short chapter because EUGH this is the only thing that isn't a total shambles right now, but I'm getting there. Slowly but surely. In a perfect world, this series would be finished by Monday.
> 
> As always, thank you so much for the lovely comments <3
> 
> (Also I am so so sorry - lovely, sweet Aunt Cass is probably just ALL kinds of OOC by now, like .-. I'm sorry, friends)

Shortly after Hiro had sent off the Notice of Civil Claim, Tadashi received a phone call.

Hiro was in Tadashi’s house at the time. They’d both just been in the kitchen, leaving the vegetable curry to simmer, both a little bit drunk from their evening drinks. Hiro had just been endlessly voicing all of the stupid ways Tadashi could propose to his partner, Tadashi humouring him. It was the most normal either of them had felt together in a while. It was a throwback to the good ole days when they could just _talk_ and unwind and mercilessly take the mickey out of each other, like brothers did.

And then Tadashi’s phone rang.

Tadashi shook head, barely suppressing a grin, and he actually _shooshed_ Hiro as he answered the call with a tipsy flourish, _“Hel_ -lo, Tadashi Hamada speaking.”

Hiro chortled into his wine glass, almost choking on it as he thought of yet another _hilarious_ way for his brother to propose to Mei. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, impatient for Tadashi to finish the call so he could tell his big brother that he should present an engagement ring to Mei just as they got onto a roller coaster, seconds before it took off. And then, at the end, he should pretend to have lost the ring somewhere on the second corkscrew. _Hilarious._

But something about his brother’s suddenly intense expression pushed the thought right out of his head. The look on his brother’s face was… sobering, to say the least.

Hiro wondered if it was work-related. Tadashi received a lot of work-related calls now that morphed his smile into a grimace or a frown, just like that, but… this was different. Something was off. Usually Tadashi tried to hide the fact that his reputation was worsening, that his robot nurses weren’t doing too well, and he always ended up discreetly excusing himself from the room, or at the very least politely turning his back to present company. But he didn’t. He just stared at Hiro, his eyes sharp and slitted and _hostile_.

Hiro went numb to think that his brother was staring at _him_ like that… He wondered if it wasn’t work at all. Maybe it was…

He swallowed.

Maybe it was something else.

_Takahiro…_

But then her name was uttered. And Hiro understood. Tadashi’s eyes weren’t _threatening_ ; they were protective.

“Sorry Aunt Cass,” Tadashi muttered, not sounding sorry in the slightest. A noise like scratching stole Hiro’s attention and he moved his eyes to the bench Tadashi was leaning on it with one hand. His brother’s nails weren’t long, but they still dug into the wooden countertop, grazing it, clawing it. “You might be family, but I don’t care about that anymore. This is Hiro’s decision.”

A pause. The air was still. Hiro barely breathed.

He flinched as Tadashi actually _hissed,_ “I am _not talking him out of anything.”_

Hiro put down his glass. He couldn’t trust himself not to drop it. He couldn’t quite feel his body. He didn’t know if that was just the alcohol or the nerves.

For a while, Hiro just stood there and listened. He couldn’t parse any of Cass’ words; he could only faintly hear the shrill, beseeching tone of her voice. He could understand the reason for her unexpected call through Tadashi’s increasingly heated responses. She was trying to convince Tadashi to convince Hiro to drop the charges against her. To change his mind about taking her to court. To not do this.

It might’ve worked on Tadashi once, but it didn’t work anymore.

He started shouting.

“Just hang up,” Hiro begged quietly, his wide eyes _imploring_ his brother, because she wasn’t worth it – she wasn’t worth engaging when she was like this, she wasn’t worth losing his temper over. “Just hang up on her, Tadashi, _please.”_

Tadashi didn’t hear him. Once cold and detached, now he looked like he saw red.

“No– _you_ listen,” he shouted into the phone and Hiro’s mouth fell open, _terrified_ and yet unable to move. He should’ve left the room. He should’ve forced Tadashi to end the call before he could say something he’d regret and give her extra ammunition, but Hiro couldn’t move. “I am _not_ going to let myself be manipulated by you anymore and you are _not_ turning me against _my own brother._ I _love_ Hiro, and I am going to stand by him as I should. We’re not even settlinglet alone abandoning this case. It’s going through, whether you’re ready to face up to what you did or not. _See you in court, Aunt Cass.”_

Tadashi smacked his phone down on the counter, the motion sending a jolt through Hiro. Tadashi lowered his head, sighing, groaning, _frustrated_ , and pressed his fingers between his eyes like there was a migraine centred there, right there. Like he was praying to a higher power to give him strength.

The good mood was ruined. Hiro tried in vain to bring it back.

“B… Bit dramatic, weren’t you?” he said, attempting a smile.

Tadashi’s hand shot out to grab his younger brother’s arm, and Hiro yelped as he was pulled into a crushing embrace. Tadashi was muffled as he whispered harshly into Hiro’s shoulder, his words going far too fast for Hiro to even hear what they were, and it was all he could do to pat and rub his older brother’s back. He strained to listen, managing to catch what had sounded like, _“I love you,”_ and Hiro latched onto that, _clung_ to it, and he began to whisper, “I love you too, I love you too,” over and over, until his brother had found enough solace to ease his grip. To let him go.

Hiro could already tell that court was going to be _fun._


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends <3 hopefully I didn't make my very uneducated interpretation of a court case too boring?? And if I flubbed up somewhere then it's because I don't know all that much about court and please feel free to educate me .-.
> 
> Had to be pretty brutal here. Had to cut a lot of stuff out. STILL sorting some future stuff out. (It could very well be that the next chapter is the last one :O)
> 
> Thank you for the comments <3

The first time Hiro ever got a fitting and bought a proper suit wasn’t for a funeral. Or his brother’s wedding. It was for court.

Hiro was well aware by now of all the stereotypes. He knew that a shabby, underdressed man in court wasn’t going to be as credible as a man in a nice suit. He knew that a masculine woman wouldn’t receive the same kind of lenient treatment as a feminine one.

And Cass seemed to know all about them too.

From the moment he saw her that day, on their court date, he just _knew._ She looked very different to the lady he’d seen just a few months ago. She looked years– _decades_ younger. Her greying hair was now a vibrant auburn, falling in gentle waves and flicks to frame her face, which was heavy with subtle make-up. Her skin was white and her lips _red_ and her eyes pretty and popping. She wore a knee-length, eggshell-blue patterned dress, her red-nailed fingers often falling to sweep gently over the creases of the skirt, smoothing them out. She wore her deceased sister’s necklace, and she smiled like she were a perfect housewife. A domestic goddess from an earlier century, one that spent her days baking and cleaning in the kitchen, living out a quiet and modest life, where she was happy to wait on her husband and children – neither of which she had – hand and foot.

Hiro wanted to look at her and scoff and say that she looked absolutely _ridiculous._ But the truth was that she didn’t. She didn’t look ridiculous at all. She was utterly convincing. Right down to the gossamer lace over her chest, just above her cleavage, to mask the scars. She knew exactly what she was doing.

She looked a little bit how she sometimes used to, back then. When he was still letting her bring him cookies and muffins and slices and things, and she would dress herself like this, and call him her “young man”, like they were playing a sick and twisted game of House. He wondered if maybe she dressed as she did on purpose. If it was just another layer of psychological warfare.

She gave both Hiro and Tadashi cold looks, and they returned them right back. She passed them, her heels clack-clack-clacking along the hardwood floor, and Tadashi froze just as Hiro did then because he smelled it too. She smelled just like her baked goods from her café. Like her _cakes._

“Today’s court case catered byyyy,” Hiro said under his breath, upbeat and _so_ sarcastic, “the _defendant._ Feeling peckish, jurors? Need something that’ll hit the spot just right as you make your verdi–“

Tadashi elbowed him in the ribs. He mustn’t’ve thought his younger brother was very funny.

 

In hindsight, it had kind of been horrible – what he’d been doing. The perfect victim thing. Every victim deserved to be validated and believed and respected, regardless of how they dressed, or talked, or looked, or however they lived their lives. He went from feeling a little guilty about it to feeling full-blown _despicable_ for even _conceding_ that there was such a thing as a ‘perfect’ victim. That wasn’t what he was about. That wasn’t what rape sensitivity was about. There were many kind of legitimate victims, and each and every one of them mattered just as much as the next. There wasn’t a ‘typical’ victim. There weren’t certain characteristics about them that made them more deserving of sympathy than others. None of them asked for it.

To exemplify that, he openly vowed that he wasn’t going to lie _._ Not at all.

Lucy tried to fight him a little on this. She tried to tell him that it was better to omit certain truths about himself, that it would make him look more sympathetic if he just played their sick little game and made _small_ exaggerations, here and there. But he contested her. Sure, he wouldn’t mention that he’d had a long string of both boyfriends _and_ girlfriends, because it just wasn’t _relevant_ to his case. But if those kinds of claims arose, he wouldn’t deny them. Even if it invited someone to accuse him of being an unstable slut, he wouldn’t deny them.

He already knew he was at a strong disadvantage. He’d missed the optimal, most opportune, most _believable_ time to do it. When it would’ve hurt him the most. But he wasn’t even going to attempt to tip the scales in his favour. He _wasn’t going to lie._ Even if it made his case look a hell of a lot less severe than it really was… even if it _did_ make him look like he was in fact _lying…_ He wouldn’t do it.

Cass presented as an almost perfect contrast. Her claims were nothing _but_ lies. She denied it, of course. She denied ever raping her then-underage nephew, or showing him pornographic material, or coercing and bribing and manipulating him to engage in various sexual acts with her. She denied it all. She even denied committing these horrific acts and then _lying_ about them, years later, which had almost forced Hiro to hide a smile because at that point… things had gone past devastating to just being… _funny._

It was _funny_ to think that his woman had once been his _family._ That she was the sister of his own _mother._ Hiro barely knew a thing about his mother, but he hoped that she at least hadn’t been _nearly_ as monstrous as her sister.

 

He watched her sometimes, during the idle moments of their court case. She didn’t seem scared. No, on the contrary, when she thought no one was watching her, she seemed to exude an air of unshaken confidence, like she knew she’d already won. She caught his eye and she just _smiled,_ with her red, red lips stretched into a tight curve, which looked more like a vivid, bleeding gash across her face than a real smile.

He saw her as a puppeteer, because that’s just what she was. She sat in her chair, her pert lips sealed, her painted eyes always roaming from lawyer to lawyer to juror to juror, and she gave quiet nods and quick smiles like they were wordless commands. Orders. She didn’t even need to use her fingers or her mouth or anything else to manipulate people anymore. She could do it with a mere _look,_ and strings grew taut. Puppets danced. A show commenced.

 

Lucy told him to really emphasise just how much _great_ work he’d done for male victims over the past several months, and so he did. The defence asked in a tired drawl just how _relevant_ any of those details really were, and the plaintiff insisted that they were, because what kind of role model would Hiro be if he encouraged abused children and adult survivors to speak out against their rapists whilst not even attempting to do so himself?

He was defamed, like Lucy had warned him he would be. He was told by entirely new people – that _weren’t_ his aunt – that he’d just made the whole thing up. He _hadn’t_ been sexually abused as a child. He _was_ lying. He was told he’d only done it for attention. For sympathy he didn’t need. That no harm had ever befallen him at the hands of his aunt.

It was kind of funny, Hiro thought. He still didn’t know exactly where Cass herself stood on the abuse. He still didn’t know, even after all these years, if she’d been delusional and genuinely believed once that she was _guiltless,_ or if she was just lying again and again and _again_ through her teeth. She claimed to have no knowledge whatsoever about whatever it was Hiro kept accusing her of, and a part of him wondered if she still remembered the very first time she’d touched him. If she still thought about it every now and again. If she _got off_ on it, despite knowing that he’d never wanted it. If she relished the fact that no one could ever punish her for it.

He wanted to do it. He wanted to remind her of her transgressions and make her _extremely_ uncomfortable. He was asked to recall his experiences and he _gladly_ did, not holding back. He tried not to dwell on the fact that his brother was right there, staring horrified as he was forced to listen to his younger brother describe in graphic detail all of the gross, sexual acts their aunt had performed on him, or otherwise forced him to perform. He could just see his brother pale rapidly, squicked out beyond his comprehension, but that hadn’t been his intention. He’d wanted to make _Cass_ uncomfortable, but her face never betrayed anything of the sort. She stared at him like he was just so _ridiculous,_ like she couldn’t even understand why they were even attempting to entertain the possibility that any of it was true.

 

After the testimonies, the only scrap of real evidence he actually had was her letter. The one she’d written to him on his eighteenth birthday. It was crinkled, partially torn in one corner, but it had still somehow survived despite how intensely Hiro had wanted to erase its existence. He was _very_ glad that he’d managed to resist succumbing to those urges.

The letter was read aloud. It was cross-examined for a while, but there just wasn’t enough detail. From the outset, it sounded like every other doting aunt trying to reach out to her estranged nephew. Her words were infuriatingly vague. Hiro had known _exactly_ what she’d meant when she said ‘closure’, but the defence was persuaded to think that it could’ve referred to literally anything else. She didn’t even have to deny that the letter was in her hand. She’d already given such a cock-and-bull story about how he’d been _aggressive_ and _rebellious_ back then, and how she had _blamed_ _herself_ for his behaviour, since he was in her charge. And she just weaved her lies all together so effortlessly.

It was funny how the defence wanted it both ways. They wanted to exemplify the consequences of her abuse without ever conceding that _she was the reason_ for his breakdowns, for his recurrent depression, for his otherwise strange behaviour. He wanted to use the fact that he’d been in and out of therapy and off and on medication since he was eighteen as _evidence_ of his victimisation. But the defence wanted to use it that information as evidence of his lies.

There were many ways for her attorney to say that he’d been “acting strangely” before her alleged abuse had even begun. He was orphaned at three. He was bullied in school. He didn’t have friends. He was a technological genius and that was _different,_ so that was bad too. Fourteen was a time of turmoil, of hormones, of… urges. Someone had genuinely surprised him to bring up the fact that he’d used to make a fair bit of money off street bot-fights in his free time. But it wasn’t at all relevant, and now his younger self looked like a little _criminal_ as well as a pathological liar.

How was it going? Great.

Everything was going just great.

 

The trial didn’t even fill up a day. Cass had only needed to give reasonable doubt that she couldn’t have committed the alleged crime, and that didn’t take an awful lot. She hadn’t seemed to be trying very hard. And the horrible thing was that she didn’t have to.

 

Hiro already knew he’d lost his case hours before the jury come out with the final verdict. He’d lost. She’d _won._ But it was OK. He’d already come to terms with it. He’d had more than enough time to steel himself to the inevitable outcome. His impassive, reactionless expression didn’t betray a single ounce of distress or disappointment.

He just wished he could’ve said the same of Tadashi.

 _“What,”_ his older brother breathed his exclamation, his mouth dropping open, his dark eyes going wide. The hand entwined with Hiro’s trembled and _clenched._ “Th… They’re joking, right,” he said, quiet and stunned, turning from one subdued face to the next, eventually coming to settle on his younger brother’s. He swallowed like he couldn’t find the words. His eyes stayed dry, but they still crinkled with an enormous amount of _pain_. “Hiro…”

Hiro gave himself a second... and then he scoffed. Waved it off. Like it was nothing.

“Well that was predictable.”

Tadashi shook his head and he didn’t stop shaking it. He sounded like he’d been winded, like he couldn’t breathe quite right. He didn’t seem to understand Hiro’s cavalier, indifferent reaction.

“Hiro, you don’t… seem very…”

“I’m numb to it, OK? Don’t worry about me.” He stared hard at Tadashi. “Really. I’ll be fine.”

“But…” So crestfallen. Someone pressed a sympathetic hand to Hiro’s back, another to his head, another to his shoulder, and a part of him just wanted to die, but he tried not to let it show. His brother was already nearing tears enough as it was. “I… I’d kind of hoped you’d win.”

“Bro.” Hiro forced a smile. He laid a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “It’s OK. I knew what to expect. But I still went ahead with it anyway. That takes bravery, right? I didn’t _win_ but… a lot of good came from this.” Tadashi stared at him like he didn’t believe him. “I’m serious. I’m more credible now. I think I set a good precedent for other male survivors. I can… help people navigate the system now because I’ve been through it myself. I can always try again if I want to. It’s all on record, and now our names are out there. Mine and Aunt Cass.”

He leaned forwards a little to stare at her on the other side of the courtroom, where they were making the most noise. She was shaking hands and exchanging thanks and smiling unabashed, like she hadn’t once doubted her own innocence even for a _second._ Like she couldn’t have predicted any other outcome. Like everything went according to plan.

“Some people still believe me,” Hiro continued in a small voice. “And that’s all that matters.”

Tadashi nodded. But Hiro could tell that his brother still wasn’t convinced.

They left the courtroom, saw off the attorney, and then Hiro’s most militant supporters flocked around him to tell him how _sorry_ they were, and how _terrible_ it was, and how _awful_ she was, and how they were all there for him. They were outraged on his behalf, Tadashi was distressed on his behalf. Between everyone there, Hiro barely had enough space to express his own emotions. He felt crowded. He felt…

He didn’t want to deal with it right now. He announced to his friends and supporters that he was taking them all to have commiserative drinks with him, and everyone there returned a downhearted cheer. Tadashi had just been standing there, on the fringes of the group, trying and failing to stay present. Hiro declared, “You’re coming too,” and pulled him along with them.

 

They ended up in some nearby bar that did cheap drinks because they were going to need a _lot_ of them. There were about ten of them there. Alice and Hiyori, Lucy, Tadashi, and a few others that had been actively involved in helping Hiro to prepare for his trial. For the majority of the night, they exchanged a lot of stories about failed conviction attempts, almost as though it were supposed to cheer Hiro up and not bring him down even more.

He was on his fourth drink when he just happened to glance up to see Lucy watching him. She gave a teensy nod towards the door, and then she was standing up from her chair, pulling a packet of smokes out from her back pocket and walking away.

Hiro cast his eyes around the table. Everyone still there was too busy engaged in fervent discussion to notice if he just slipped out for a while. Tadashi was talking to two older, active members from the organisation – an ex-cop and a nurse – and from the sounds of it, he seemed to be developing ideas on how he could improve his robot nurses, and how he could better program and equip them to help rape victims. He was so preoccupied that he was on his phone, taking notes as he talked. So Hiro stumbled up to his feet and made his way towards the door.

He stepped out into the cool night air and closed his eyes and just… breathed. Though, the air didn’t smell very fresh. Lucy was responsible for that. She gave a pointed cough from a small adjacent smoking area, and he followed her over, dropping down onto the bench beside her. He didn’t look at her. He just stared at the ground.

“Thought you might’ve wanted some space,” she said. “You were starting to look a bit like you wanted to scream.”

Hiro laughed a little. “Yeah, I’ve… been feeling that way for a while now.”

“Since you left the courthouse?”

He hummed. He kicked the ground with one shoe. “Pretty much,” he muttered.

“It’s OK to cry,” she cooed teasingly, laying an uncharacteristically gentle hand on his back, and he bent forward over his knees and _laughed._ But what started as slightly hysterical laughter quickly progressed into tears, and her joking reassurances became genuine. He put his hands over his face and sobbed and quivered and wept because _he’d lost his case_ and he’d fucked up the _one_ opportunity he had to get the justice he’d wanted, and he’d spent the last few hours trying to keep himself together in front of his brother so that he wouldn’t worry him.

He tried to keep as much decorum as he could, considering he was still wearing a _suit._ But it wasn’t easy.

She hugged him, which he’d learnt over the time he’d known her was something that she didn’t do lightly. She put her arm around him and held him to her side and let him cry onto her shoulder. “Welcome to the real world, kid,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry you lost. But don’t let this knock you. You just keep doing what you’re doing. And maybe one day things will be better for people like us. You did this for every other guy out there who has yet to get his rapist convicted, and one day they _will,_ because of you. But society doesn’t change overnight. OK?”

Hiro didn’t have the capacity to answer her, but he nodded into her shoulder and she felt it. She flicked her cigarette away to wrap her other arm around him and she absolutely _stunk_ of liquor and stale smoke, but he didn’t care, because this was his rock right now – grounding him, keeping him here, letting him know that it wasn’t for nothing.

She let him hang onto her for as long as he needed.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL FRIENDS THIS IS IT. FINAL CHAPTER. THE THRILLING (not really) CONCLUSION TO THE SILENCED SERIES. OVER 100K WORDS LATER. NGHHHHHHHHH
> 
> Wow. It has been... quite the journey, my friends. I like to think that in future I will often stop and think to myself "remember that summer where I just sat down and wrote a three-part series fanfic of Big Hero 6 in which Aunt Cass was a rapist and Hiro was an emotional wreck? Yeah. I *did* that." Wow. Just... wow. The amount of times I would just stop and stare at these stories and wonder... what the hell am I even writing. But I'm glad I stuck it through. 
> 
> I think the main reason I kept writing though was because there were just so many fantastic readers out there who nearly always left me comments to show their support, or give me advice, or just... YELL EXCITEDLY/ANGRILY and it was always so great to see that. I try to leave comments now because NEVER underestimate the power of a nice comment <3 It truly makes everyone's day. I want to thank everyone who showed their support, and especially those who've been around since Say Something like... you guys are actually amazing?? seriously?? <3 <3 <3
> 
> So yes, goodbye friends <3 I will almost definitely stick around to write more sad/twisted stories. But this is it for the Silenced series. Uh, I hope some of it was at least a little educational too? Like... please validate and respect abuse and rape victims. Please look out for each other. Destroy stereotypes and all that? yeey <3 you guys stay awesome
> 
> (Oh yeah - for those of you who wanted to know the TOO SILLY DRAMATIC alternative ending = Hiro never faced up to the possibility that he could've hurt Taka. He blamed it all on Cass, and yet at the same time he kept telling Taka that he couldn't ever do anything about it, and that he had to move on. And so Taka decided to do justice his own way and burn Cass' cafe to the ground with her still inside (meaning that she died - also apparently Taka is a psychopath, who knew) and then Taka going to prison and Tadashi grieving and Hiro having to deal with the aftermath and considering suicide/running away and just-! It sounds cool, I know, but I'm glad I got talked out of it. So here is the HAPPY ENDING (kinda?) AS PROMISED INSTEAD.)

It wasn’t a month after the court case that Hiro overheard some of his colleagues complaining that the Lucky Cat café had closed down. He stopped by it that very afternoon to see if the rumours were true, and apparently they were. The café – the entire _house_ was undergoing drastic renovation. There was a little garage sale on the underside, and Hiro made a beeline for it, his heart racing at the prospect of accruing all of the technology he and his brother had been forced to abandon when they’d left her place. He peered in, sorting through boxes and shelves and tables of things, but most of it was just… junk. It was broken parts, it was dead tools, it was old books and clothes and items too worthless to be kept. A box of Hiro’s assorted figurines and robots sat in one corner and he pawed through them sadly, remembering the _good_ parts of his childhood. Before all that mess.

He asked one of the people running the sale if they knew what’d happened to the lady who used to own the place, and he was told that she’d left the city. Taken her business elsewhere. Left a lot of junk behind, hence the clear-out sale. “Why,” they asked, “did you know her?”

Hiro told them no. Said that he was looking forward to the new sashimi restaurant that was replacing the Lucky Cat café. He’d never really liked the cakes there anyway.

As Hiro walked away, carrying a box of his old toys, he felt a wave of calm wash over him. He felt… at peace. Like there was no reason to feel afraid anymore. Like he couldn’t be hurt anymore. Liberated. Empowered. In control.

Later that day, he resolved to call Morgan and ask for the opportunity to apologise to him. To explain why he’d been dumped so suddenly and without any real explanation. To see if they could at the very least be friends again.

He was starting to pull himself back together. He was getting his life back. He was moving on.

\-------

One morning at work, he received an email from an address he hadn’t seen in over six months. An address he’d never expected to see in his inbox ever again. An email that… still appeared at the top of his inbox, even though he’d received two others more recently.

He didn’t want to draw the anguish out unnecessarily. Like ripping off a plaster, he opened it without hesitation. He took the time he needed to compose himself and then he was reading.

Not even a greeting. He got straight to the point.

_It’s Takahiro_

_Meet me outside the university you used to do your seminars in at 3pm_

_Don’t be late_

Hiro felt his stomach muscles clench. He couldn’t parse from that whether Takahiro was _mad,_ or… just direct? He didn’t know how to feel about it. He couldn’t anticipate _how_ he should be approaching Takahiro – with his head hung low in _shame,_ or…

It was coming back again. That _guilt_ that ate into him and every part of him until there was nothing left. The _unease,_ the _uncertainty…_ It was all coming back. It was poisoning him, making him _sick_ … But he had to know.

 _I’ll be there,_ Hiro wrote back.

\-------

He wasn’t late. In fact, he was early. He took the afternoon off from work and was outside the old arts university by a quarter to three. He was seated on an old bench that was covered with more graffiti than paint, and he was bouncing one of his legs up and down, and then the other when the first got sore. He peered over his shoulder each time a new flock of students came out. They weren’t too different to the students at SFIT. They were lively and more colourful, better dressed, and put more of an effort into their appearance, but they weren’t all that dissimilar to the nerds he’d studied with at the Institute.

Hiro didn’t know what to expect. A part of him wished that Takahiro would never show up. That the email had just been a stupid prank just to mess with him. But Takahiro wasn’t like that. What was more likely was that Takahiro would appear and… connect his fist to Hiro’s jaw before he even said hello. Yell at him and humiliate him in front of the afternoon arts students. Tell him that he’d talked to a qualified therapist and recovered his memories and was going to put him away for life. Hiro didn’t know.

He didn’t _want_ to know.

He checked the time on his phone and _rocked_ with anxiety. He still had nine minutes for Takahiro to show. It wasn’t too late to just… leave. Was it? Could he even do that without first knowing what Takahiro wanted with him? Was he still that big of a coward?

He forced himself to stay. It wasn’t easy. The urge to just get up and _go home_ pulsed through him several times in so many minutes, but he clung to the bench and tried to pretend that he was nailed to it, chained up to it. Like he couldn’t leave, even if he’d wanted to. And he _really_ wanted to.

He checked the time again. Two minutes.

He checked it again. Still two minutes.

Again. One minute.

Again. One minute.

Again. One minute.

Again. Just gone three o’clock.

He peered up from his phone, tentatively slipping it back into his pocket. He glanced around. There were a lot of students roaming the campus lawns now. A lot of them were of Asian descent, gangly and dispassionate. A lot of them looked like Takahiro. But only one of them came to stand before him.

Hiro stared up at him and swallowed. He looked… well. He wasn’t in his uniform anymore. He was in light jeans and a grey jumper with a white collar popping through. He was holding what looked like a binder by his side. In his other hand, he was absently clicking a biro. Click-click-click. He looked like he’d just come from a lecture.

His stare was intense. And yet as deadpan as ever. “Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” Hiro responded slowly.

Takahiro took a seat, on the other end of the bench. He set his binder between them. He didn’t look at Hiro, so Hiro didn’t look at him. They just stared ahead of themselves, not talking, looking more like total strangers than… whatever it was they were. Hiro could already feel the uncertain panic begin to subside, only to be replaced by a whole new kind of panic.

“You made it,” Takahiro said redundantly after a while, and Hiro nodded. “I didn’t pull you out of something important or anything…”

“I left work early.” Hiro shrugged. He could always make up the hours some other time. “I figured… whatever you wanted to see me about was more important.”

Another short silence. More and more students passed through and dispersed. And then the silence became loud and stifling.

“I heard you took your aunt to court.”

Hiro nodded. “I did.”

“And you lost.”

Hiro smiled pained. He nodded. “I did.”

“I’m sorry,” Takahiro said, and Hiro felt a little wave of emotion crash over him. Takahiro was… sorry? “That must’ve been rough.”

“It’s OK. I… tried, and that’s the main thing.”

“…I went to see her,” Takahiro said, and it stunned Hiro enough that he actually looked over at him. The boy was just staring at his badly-laced shoes. “It was months ago now, before I even started classes here but… I don’t know. I was just in town and I walked into her café one day and I saw her and… nothing jogged. And I thought maybe… I mean, wouldn’t it be funny if neither of you abused me?” He turned a small smile onto Hiro before looking away again. “Like… you both spent so much time accusing each other of being abusive that you just made me _think_ something bad happened, when really nothing did?”

Hiro couldn’t see anything funny about that. “It’s possible,” he murmured.

Takahiro faced him then. He turned so that one of his legs was on the bench. But his head was down and his voice was quiet as he said, “You’re the only one who apologised, who really talked about it… Cass denied everything. She said nothing could’ve happened but… I don’t know, maybe she’s right and she’s telling the truth. But it still felt… kinda weird. Like, even if she had just admitted that the thought crossed her mind, or that it had been a real possibility, and she was really regretful, like… that could’ve been OK?”

Hiro met his gaze. “She lied in court. She denied ever abusing me.” The implication was there. _Maybe she lied about abusing you too._ “I’m guessing you calling in on her is the reason why she decided to leave a few months ago.”

“She’s gone?” Takahiro exclaimed and Hiro gave a grim nod. “That… sure makes it seem like she’s guilty of something.”

Hiro flashed him a humourless smile. They’d never know now.

“I…” Takahiro was so quiet. But by now, so was everyone else. “I appreciate that you… tried to set things right. You could’ve real easily just kept lying to me or walked away but… you didn’t.”

Hiro shrugged. “I’ve been a victim before. I know what it’s like to…” Hiro took a deep breath and sighed it out. He just wasn’t going to finish that sentence. “I still saw so much of my younger self in you, I guess. I wasn’t going to let the same things happen to you. I didn’t want to be the one to tell you that your suffering wasn’t real.”

Another short silence.

“…I went to a therapist, like Tadashi said to,” Takahiro finally said. “The lady was real nice. She tried to help me like, recover any memories I might’ve repressed? But it’s hard, right, because young kids don’t exactly have the best brains yet for retaining memories. And my therapist couldn’t uh… like, lead me, or there’s a risk she implants false memories or something. But after a while we couldn’t really get anything reliable, so… It’s still really hard to say whether anything might’ve happened or not.”

Hiro gave a faint nod. Almost half a year later and still nothing, huh.

“But, I went to another therapist who basically told me that it didn’t really matter what may or may not have happened, and that I should really just be focusing on the present and the future. I got a bit um… depressed, I think they said. So they gave me stuff to do. Stuff to think about. Just… stuff that made me feel a lot better about myself. They said that was important. And, I got a lot better.”

Hiro smiled. “I’m happy for you, Taka-kun,” he murmured. _I’m happy that you’re doing OK now._

“Um…” Takahiro shifted a little in his seat. He rubbed at the back of his head. “I... still wanna be friends.”

That really stumped Hiro. Not twenty minutes ago he’d been anticipating this kid practically trying to beat the _shit_ out of him for what he did, and here the boy was, trying to express an interest in being _friends_ again.

Takahiro cocked his head and smiled a little. “D… Did you hear me?”

“Friends?” Hiro repeated, feeling light-headed. “Really?”

Takahiro laughed. “Yeah. I… really liked hanging out with you. And, I um, forgive you – for all that stuff that you did. That silencing stuff. It took you a while to own up to it but… you did in the end, right? Tadashi told me about it… about how you were really upset with yourself. And how you were scared at first, but then you started to put my needs before yours. How you wanted to be a good person, even though you kind of already are, at least compared to _Cass_. And…” Takahiro shrugged. “You kinda went through a lot yourself. Like, a _lot_ a lot.”

Hiro laughed. _A lot a lot_ was right. He inhaled but it sounded a lot more like a sob than it did an intake of breath. “Thanks, Taka-kun,” he said. God, his voice was all wobbly too. He wiped a sleeve across his eyes and– yep. Unwelcome moisture. “Thanks a lot.”

“You can call me Taka,” the boy offered. “You don’t have to call me Taka-kun. I’m not gonna call you Hiro-san.”

Hiro couldn’t tell if he was laughing or crying now; they seemed to unnaturally blend together. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d cried out of relief and _happiness;_ it felt so strange. _“Sure,”_ he said, and it came out as nothing more than a squeak.

They fell into what would’ve been a nice and companionate silence… if it weren’t for Hiro’s hideous noises.

He could just hear the distress in Takahiro’s voice, could _feel_ his hand hovering nervously by his trembling shoulder. “Arrre you OK?”

 _“Sorry,”_ Hiro gasped, running a hand over his disgusting face, trying to straighten himself out. He breathed in and out slowly to calm down. “Don’t freak out, OK, I-I’m fine, I’m… just… _really happy,_ ” he laughed, “because I… I never got this with Cass. I never had any _closure,_ you know. She never apologised to me, she never owned up to what she did, and… I never forgave her. And now she’s gone and it’s _great,_ but… now I’ll never be able to…” He shook his head. His was rendered wordless for a few seconds before he drew a deep breath. “But I’m so _relieved_ that we got this, Taka. I’m so happy you were able to forgive me… I appreciate it. It means a lot to me.”

_It means the world to me._

“No, I get it. It’s OK.” Takahiro touched his hand to Hiro’s shoulder. He patted it rhythmically, like he had no idea what he was doing, but it was still sweet nonetheless. “I’m sorry your aunt turned out to be such a bitch.”

 _“Haahh,”_ Hiro laughed. “Y-Yeah…” He sniffed. He turned a smile onto Takahiro and the boy returned it warmly. “Me too.”

They stayed like that for a while. Hiro emitted soft whimpers and sobs and sniffs, while Takahiro patted him awkwardly until Hiro had managed to settle back down into a warm, rosy and contented haze. He closed his eyes and just breathed and raised his head to the sun. He felt good. _Cleansed._ Like… everything was going to be OK from now on.

No sooner than Hiro had quietened down, Takahiro picked up his binder and shuffled over to Hiro’s side. “OK so,” the boy murmured, pulling out a sheet that Hiro opened his eyes to see was filled with equations and formulae. “I need some help with this stats assignment…”

Hiro stilled for a moment. And then he began to laugh, hard and obscene.

“What?” Takahiro frowned. “What’s so funny?”

“Is this the _real reason_ you wanted to be friends again,” Hiro cried, pointing to the boy’s assignment, and Takahiro gave him a small shove. “So that I can help you with your _statistics homework?”_

“It’s _hard_ at university level _,_ OK? And friends help each other out, right?”

In that moment, Hiro didn’t even care. He was finally at peace.


End file.
